Road to Ruin
by PengyChan
Summary: There are men who rise to glory and others who fall in disgrace. Quercus Alba - first a soldier, then a war hero, then a corrupted ambassador - was one of those who went through both.
1. The Day the Sun Went Out

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Well, aside from my twisted brain and a thing for bad guys with a potential story to tell. But I sure don't own the AA series.

_A/N:_ _this is the first chapter of what is going to be a rather long story. Which is, if you didn't guess already, entirely about Quercus Alba from AA:I. Why him? Because he gets no attention in the fandom at all, and I always go for the underdog. And hey, a corrupted ambassador who was once a war hero sure would have one heck of a story to tell._  
><em>I already tried my hand in giving him some kind of backstory in another fanfiction I wrote, but it was nothing really detailed, and in the end I couldn't resist actually writing a fic about his past. What can I say, I needed a NaNoWriMo project anyway.<em>

* * *

><p>"Ambassador Alba was a Cohdopian hero. He saved the royal family from danger countless times. So what bothers me is, why would a man like that create a smuggling ring…? Even with all the authority I have, I still haven't been able to figure out why."<p>

- Franziska von Karma.

* * *

><p><em>Rain had been coming down steadily out of an ashen sky since early morning, turning the dusty paths surrounding the military training ground into mud. By that time the recruits were soaked and trembling with cold even as they ran; now they also had to struggle not to fall at each step, either from exhaustion or from the mud making the paths slippery.<em>

_Army recruit Quercus Alba had no idea how long they had been running with the sergeant screaming for them to keep going, not to stop if they didn't want to face consequences. Nor did he want to know: he was certain that if he knew strength would leave him and he would just crumble in a panting heap on the ground, like some other recruits had already done. All he did was focusing on running, not paying attention to the sergeant's shouts, to his and his comrades' panting breath, to the biting cold, to the rain, the mud._

_He'd just run. And not think. He was not to think._

_Never to allow himself to remember that there had been a time without yells and mud and rain, when at the end of the day he wouldn't drag himself to the barracks with his muscles screaming for mercy and his stomach still hurting with hunger. Back when he would laze in the shade of the trees in the fields around his house throughout summer days before going back home to his find warmth, a home-cooked meal and laughter._

No.

Don't think.

Don't think.

* * *

><p><strong>Dianthus, Cohdopia, 1966<strong>

While not quite as strong as it had been throughout most of the summer, the heat that day was strong enough to make the temptation to snooze all day in the shade of the old oak tree too powerful to resist. Not that Quercus had even tried to resist: after all, this was his last day of vacation before going off to university, so he could as well allow himself to laze, couldn't he?

The young man yawned and folded his hands beneath his head to use them as a pillow, enjoying the faint sound of leave rustling in the breeze above him, the only sound that could be heard aside from-

"Quercus!"

… Aside from his sister's shrills, apparently. Quercus groaned a little as the all too familiar voice of a little girl reached his ears, his groan easily covered by the rustling leaves above his head. He shut his eyes a little tighter and stayed motionless, pretending to be asleep. Maybe she would leave him alone if she thought he was-

"_Quercus_!"

"Ow!" Quercus gasped, olive green eyes snapping open when something – someone – jumped on him, literally. He frowned and looked up at the freckled little girl currently sitting on his stomach.

"Got you!" she exclaimed, a smug look on her face. "Now you're awake! Stop ignoring me!"

"I couldn't possibly ignore you if I were blind, deaf and dumb," Quercus muttered, sitting up to make her get off his stomach, but he was more resigned than annoyed. Had it been anyone else to just jump on him while he slept his reaction would have been far less controlled, but he had always been lenient with his little sister, like pretty much everyone else in the family: Laureola was a late child to their middle-aged parents and the youngest of all three siblings, and for all of them it was hard being angry at her for anything short of setting the house on fire.

His sister sat cross-legged on the grass and giggled. "You look funny."

"I look like someone who was just awakened from a nap by someone jumping on their stomach," he grumbled a little, reaching to run a hand through his brown hair to get rid of any grass or leaves – not that he had much success, for most of the bits of grass and leaves in his hair stayed stuck in place and he had some trouble untangling his hand as well. Maybe he should give in and actually use a comb at some point, he thought. His mother would surely appreciate it.

"You're just grumpy," she said with a shrug. "You always are. Like an old man."

He sighed. "What did you wake me up for, Laurie?" he asked, deciding that changing the subject would be better than starting an argument: any time they started arguing over anything, it was hard telling when they'd stop. Both of them would dig their heels and refuse to admit being wrong, with the result that each and every argument would drag on for hours… or until someone else, usually their mother, told them both to just _shut up_.

Laurie seemed taken aback, then she pouted. "What, you forgot already? You promised!"

Quercus blinked. "Promised?" he repeated. "Promised what?"

That was most definitely not the reply his sister had wanted to hear. "So you forgot! You make a horrible big brother!" she complained. "You promised you'd help me build a tree house before leaving, and you're leaving tomorrow!"

Oh, _that_. Quercus raised an eyebrow. "Laurie, I don't think a 'whatever, now let me read' qualifies as a 'yes'. Let alone as a promise."

"It does! You promised and now you have to keep your promise! I'll tell mother if you don't!"

Quercus mentally kicked himself for saying _anything_ that could be even remotely taken as a 'yes' or even a 'maybe' and decide to switch tactics, wracking his brain for an excuse not to have to spend his last day of vacation working to build a tree house in record time. "I'd love to help, Laurie, really. But I'm not feeling very well," he finally said, faking a cough before resting back down on the grass. "Maybe when I get back for Christma- ouch!" he yelped, sitting upright again as she slapped him. "Stop that!"

She stuck out her tongue at him, but didn't hit him again. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest, a stubborn look on her little face. "Liar! You're feeling just fine, you weren't coughing until a minute ago!"

He crossed his arms as well. "Well, what if I said I sprained my ankle instead?" he asked somewhat challengingly, a small smirk on his lips.

"You weren't limping when you got here, and I'm sure you didn't move! You lazed in the shade all the time!"

"Prove it, gnat."

Laurie shrugged. "I don't need to. Know you're a liar."

He chuckled. "Oh, you do? And how?"

"Because your nose is long. Like Pinocchio's when he tells a lie," she announced with the solemnity of someone stating the tenets of the universe. "So you tell lies, too."

Quercus snorted a bit, but he wasn't surprised. She used that argument often, whether to prove a point or to just make fun of his nose he couldn't tell. "Well, _that_ stung. But the answer is still no. Why don't you ask father?"

"But he can't! You know he can't! His back hurts and he can't lift weights!"

"Eclipta, then," he said, but he already knew it wasn't an option: their older sister definitely wasn't the kind of person who'd climb up a tree with planks, a hammer and nails to build a tree house. Not to mention she had just found a job that she hoped would allow her to go living on her own soon, and she was focusing all her time and energy on it.

"She won't, you know that!" Laurie protested.

"Then it really sounds like you should wait for me to be back for Christmas, then," Quercus said with a shrug. "Then we will-"

"Not fair! You promised!" she said, her voice suddenly shaky, and Quercus instantly knew it was quality acting time. He shut his eyes so he wouldn't see her.

"Tell me you're not giving me the quivering lip," he said.

Silence.

"You are, aren't you?" he asked, eyes still shut.

Silence.

"I can just keep my eyes closed until you get tired."

No reply. Minutes passed.

"… I take it you're not going to get tired."

An affirmative hum.

"Laurie, even if I got to work now there is no way I could get a decent tree house done in just one afternoon. The most I could do would be making a platform and nailing a few planks to make the roof, but nothing more. Water would get in when it rains. I'd also have no time to put any protective paint on the planks, and the tree house would rot eventually. It wouldn't be so great, don't you agree? I'd need more time to do something better. And you want a good tree house, I bet."

She said nothing, but Quercus could just picture the gears turning in her mind head, and went on. "So, what if we reach an agreement?"

Another brief silence, then, "What agreement?"

Quercus breathed a little more easily. Now that was more like it, he thought, finally opening his eyes. No more trembling lip. Perfect. "I promise I'll build you a great tree house as soon as I come back for Christmas, _and_ I'll bring you a present from Allebahst. How does that sound?"

She was tempted, that much was clear – especially when it came to the present. They lived at the very outskirts of Cohdopia, only kilometres away from the northern border with Borginia, and most people who lived there had never been in the capital of Cohdopia; the thought of getting something nice from there was something Quercus knew she couldn't resist.

"But it must be a nice present," she finally said, a wide grin on her face. "Something pretty!"

"The prettiest I can find," he promised with a chuckle. "So, what do you think?"

She frowned in through for a few moments. "Only if you swear you're going to build me the best tree house Cohdopia has ever seen when you get back!"

"Fine, fine," he said before putting his hand over his heart in a somewhat dramatic fashion. "I promise I'll build you the best tree house Cohdopia has ever seen once I'm back. Have we got a deal?"

"Almost."

He raised an eyebrow. "What else is there?"

"Can you make me a flower crown before you leave?" she asked eagerly. "I tried to ask mother, but she's busy, and Eclipta never has time. And father doesn't know how to… hey, you're not listening!" she protested.

"I heard you," Quercus said, his gaze still fixed on the man who he could now see walking up the road leading to their house; even from that distance there was no mistaking the slump of his shoulders and the worried frown on his face. "Fine with me. Why don't you go picking the flowers you want in your crown? I'll be in my room packing up the last few things. Bring the flowers over and I'll make you the crown."

"Sure!" Laurie seemed enthusiastic, and only a moment later she was scurrying off to pick wildflowers. Quercus allowed himself to smile as he followed her with his gaze, then he got up, arched his back a little to get rid of some of the soreness what came with resting on the ground and quickly strode through the field and to the road leading to his house, trying to catch up with the man.

"Father."

Morus Alba turned to face his son, and his frown melted in a smile. While in his early fifties, he often looked older than his age; worry had a hand in that, certainly, but each time he smiled Quercus could see ten years sliding off his shoulders. "Quercus," he greeted him. "Have you packed up already?"

"I'm almost done, yes," Quercus replied as he began walking to the house along with him. "But I can still unpack and stay," he added. As much as he was looking forward to university, the anticipation was soured by the knowledge his parents were going to face sacrifices to pay for his studies. Universities in the capital were the best the country had to offer, but the fees were expensive and the most recent tensions with neighbouring countries, especially Borginia, had strong repercussion on commerce; that wasn't a good time for merchants like his father.

His father shook his head. "Don't even think about it, Quercus. Just go. I couldn't give Eclipta this opportunity, and even though she's talented enough to find her way in any case I still regret it. I won't make that same mistake again with you or Laureola."

"But if things get worse-"

"They could, but they could also get better," his father cut him off. "You're still young, but I've lived long enough to know things will change eventually. This is far from the first difficult time we've had," he added.

Quercus knew it was true: Cohdopia wasn't new to wars and tensions of all sorts with neighbouring countries. While it was a relatively small country it had a number of natural resources a lot of countries were strongly interested in, and its shape didn't help defence: being a thin stretch of land that bordered several hostile countries meant that an attack could come from anywhere at any moment. Then there was the Babahlese region, the eastern part of Cohdopia: a piece of land that jutted out from the Allebhastian region and stretched to the east, bordering with even more countries that were both very interested in its mines and on less than friendly terms with the Cohdopian royal family that resided in the capital, Allebahst.

That resulted in the necessity of a strong army and a strongly militarised country, necessary to make sure the borders were protected; on the other hand the solution added internal tensions to external ones, for the people in the Babahlese region – most of them being miners with little to no influence when it came to politics, for all decisions were made in Allebahst, the capital of Cohdopia – didn't truly appreciate the constant presence of soldiers on their land, especially in face of the almost complete lack of representation in the government. All in all, the situation in Cohdopia had not been stable for a long, long time.

"Then we could wait for a more favorable moment," Quercus tried to argue. "I'm nineteen; waiting a year or two before I resume my studies wouldn't be much of a loss. Meanwhile I could-"

"You don't have to concern yourself with any of this," his father said, lifting his hand to cut him off. "Business may not be going as well as it used to, but your sister can already earn her own money, I do have some money saved up myself and I have still hope for better times. Paying for your education is my priority as for now – all you have to do is your best, Quercus."

He nodded. "I will. I'll try to find a job to pay for my studies myself. Also, I… looked up for information. With either a stable job or documents proving I study at the University of Allebahst I can obtain permissions for you to move to the capital as well. Just in case things get really out of hand," he added. Even though they lived in a small town that had nothing of interest for an invading army, they were so close to the northern border that the possibility a war could break out between Cohdopia and Borginia made him fear for the safety of those who lived there – most of all his family's.

His father blinked, staring at him as though he had never seen him before. "My, have I zoned out for years and nobody told me? One day I'm scolding a boy for fighting with his little sister, the next I'm talking to a man," he laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder, and it was only then that Quercus noticed, truly noticed, how much taller than him he had grown. Morus Alba had never been an especially tall man, but it wasn't too long ago that Quercus had been a boy who had needed to crane is his neck to look up at him. "And looks like this does prove my point – it would be better for all of us if you were in the capital to study should a war break out, don't you think?"

Quercus chuckled. "Point taken."

His father patted his shoulder. "Now don't worry about it, it's not like a war is bound to break out. Borginia is not at its best, and I can't picture them starting a war anytime soon. We'll be fine; just don't speak like you just spoke to me to your mother or your sisters; you'd only worry them. Now I believe you said you still have things left to pack up," he added as he opened the front door to walk in, and even though his voice was gentle Quercus knew him well enough to know the argument had ended.

"Yes, father," was all he said before heading to his room, not noticing his father's thoughtful, proud gaze as he watched him walking upstairs.

* * *

><p><em>Quercus' lungs were burning by the time he finished the last lap, and he apparently wasn't the only one, for no shout of relief or triumph was heard once they finally, finally stopped running: all they could do was let themselves sink to the ground, uncaring of the cold and the mud, drawing in convulsive breaths. Quercus couldn't even recall sinking to the ground as well, but he must have, for moments after realizing the training was over he found himself on his knees, chest heaving as he drew in convulsive breaths.<em>

_Unable to think of anything at all but how good it felt just to breathe, it took him and his comrades a few instant to actually realize what it was the sergeant had just barked at them._

"_What do you think you're doing on the ground? I've never seen such a spineless bunch! Get up! Another lap for you all!"_

_No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't. He didn't have any strength left, Quercus thought, shutting his eyes tightly while pleas and cries of dismay filled the air. The sergeant, on the other hand, wouldn't budge. "Another lap, I said!" he barked. "Get up now! You can't face a battle if you can't even endure some running!"_

_Quercus tried to get up, but his legs gave in and he fell on his knees again. He was about to just give in, admit to himself he just couldn't do it, but then his eyes fell on one of this comrades: he was resting on one side on the ground, apparently too spent to move, his right cheek pressed to the muddy ground – and for just one instant he could have sworn it wasn't a man lying on the ground a few feet from him, for just one instant he saw once more a little girl's body lying among ruins like a broken doll._

_Quercus Alba gritted his teeth and tried once more to rise. This time he managed, and he was the first one to._

* * *

><p>"Hey, Quercus, I brought the flowers!"<p>

Quercus turned to the door to see Laurie standing there with a bunch of flowers in her hands. He smirked. "I hope you didn't pick any of our mother's potted flowers this time. I'm afraid all of our joined forces wouldn't be enough to save you from her wrath if you did."

Laurie giggled a little. "No, I only picked wildflowers. See?" she said, putting them on his desk for him to look – and indeed, there were only wildflowers there. It looked like their mother and her potted plants could give a sigh of relief.

Quercus, who was trying to figure out if he should bring some more long-sleeved shirts or not, raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of flowers for just one crown. You could put about half of it in a vase. I'm sure mother would appreciate that."

His sister shook her head. "Nope. I want to try making one for you. I'll watch you while you make it so that I can learn."

Oh, that again. "We've been through this, Laurie," Quercus said with all the sternness he could muster with her, which wasn't much to begin with. "You don't get to put flowers on my head, ever."

She pouted. "But I want to make you a flower crown!"

"Why don't you make one for Eclipta?" he suggested. "I'm sure she'd love one."

Laurie stared at the flowers with a thoughtful frown, as though trying to decide whether or not her big sister deserved the great honour to have a flower crown made just for her, then she nodded. "Alright. But you have to teach me."

"Of course," Quercus said, putting the last pair of trousers in the suitcase and closing it with some effort before pushing it off the bed and onto the floor, making room for them to sit. "Come here with the flowers and I'll show you."

Laurie didn't walk so much as she danced to the bed. She dropped about half the flowers on his lap before sitting cross-legged next to him, waiting for him to start. "Do you need some thread or ribbons or…?"

"No, no need to," he replied. "These are long-stemmed flowers. It can be done without if you know what you're doing. Here, look…"

Thankfully Laurie was observant enough and a fast learner, and soon enough – after a few tries – she had grasped the basics and grown confident enough to start chattering again instead of staying silent and focused. Quercus should have known that pause wouldn't last.

"… And what if you find a girlfriend in Allebahst and you decide to stay and never come back?" she was asking worriedly, causing Quercus to almost break a flower's stem.

"What?" he asked, wondering if he had heard wrong.

"Mother said that girls are pretty in the capital," she explained. "And if you find a girlfriend there and don't come back you'll never build me the tree house."

Quercus laughed. "I'm going there to study, not to find a girlfriend," he said, still laughing. "But I promise that if I ever get one I won't let her distract me from my sacred mission to come back and build you a tree house. Better now?"

She giggled, but she still had a small frown on her face when she turned her attention back to the flower crown she was making. "A bit."

He raised an eyebrow. "What else is wrong?"

"I don't want you to stay away that long," she said, pouting again. "I won't know who to play with at home when mother and father are busy!"

"There's always Eclipta," Quercus pointed out.

"But she never pays attention to me," she whined, and he had to admit she had a point: he was the middle child and thus the age gap between him and his younger sister was not enormous – he had been twelve when Laurie was born – but Eclipta had been twenty already then, and busy as she was with her own life and goals she had never been that close to her youngest sister; Laurie was simply born too late to remember when things were easier for everyone and their sister smiled a lot more.

"She's busy," Quercus finally said. "But I'm sure things will get better once she gets used to her new job."

"But it won't be the same thing," she muttered unhappily. "You're my favorite brother."

"I'm also the only brother you've got," he said a little absentmindedly before he realized he was supposed to say something reassuring. "In any case, I'll be back soon enough. And I'll build you the best tree house Cohdopia has ever seen," he reminded her.

That seemed to brighten her mood again. "And you'll also bring me something nice from Allebahst!"

"Sure."

"Something pretty!"

"Of course."

"And you'll write every week!"

"That goes without saying," he chuckled before holding up the now complete flower crown. "Here. All done."

"I'm done, too!" Laurie exclaimed, holding up her own flower crown. It was a little scrawny, but it was rather good for a first attempt.

Quercus nodded almost solemnly. "It looks good. I'm sure Eclipta will love it. Now let's see how this looks on you," he added, reaching to put the flower crown he had made on Laurie's head. She straightened herself and gave a bright smile.

"Well?"

He pulled back and tilted his head a little, rubbing his chin in thought. "Yes, just as I thought. It's almost too pretty for you."

"Hey!" she protested, and stuck out her tongue at him.

He grinned, reaching to tap the flower crown so that it would cover her eyes. "What? I said almost."

Laurie pulled up the crown so that it wouldn't cover her eyes and looked up at him. "Well, your nose looks funny," she said almost solemnly, as though she had just made a very important point.

"Your point being?"

"That I'm prettier than you are!"

"That's hardly a fair contest," he pointed out – handsome he wasn't, and that was a fact.

Laurie seemed to feel bad about it, though, for she bit her lower lip for a few moments before speaking again. "But you have pretty eyes," she conceded.

"Why, thank you. I'd say the same of yours, but I can't see them clearly," he muttered, reaching to tap the flower crown again to make it slide lower to cover her eyes.

"Hey!" she protested, half-yelling and half-laughing. Quercus was about to add something, but he shut his mouth when he heard the front door opening and closing downstairs.

"Sounds like Eclipta is back. Go give her your flower crown," he suggested, and Laurie immediately nodded, eagerly rushing outside with a hand holding the crown on her head in place as she pretty much bounced downstairs.

It took so little to make her happy, he thought with a chuckle as she listened to her merry babblings as she gave the flower crown to their sister – who apparently appreciated it a lot. Quercus found himself musing that if just getting to make a flower crown had been enough to cheer Laurie up so much, getting a present from Allebahst _and_ the tree house she longed for at the same time was going to put the biggest smile ever on her face.

But he was wrong: when he'd see her again there would be no smile – the next time he'd see her, her freckled little face would be no more.

* * *

><p><em>When they made it back to the barracks that day they were all so tired that the only thing that kept from collapsing on their bunks and falling asleep right away was the cold: their uniforms were soaked with water and covered in mud, and before they allowed themselves to drop dead they needed to take them off and allow themselves the luxury of a hot shower.<em>

_Quercus went through it as if in a daze, unable to even feel it: he was too tired for that. By the time he was done and made it to his bunk, Quercus knew nothing but his need for rest – and for the first time in months he forgot to take one of the pills he kept hidden in the mattress, those which granted him a dreamless sleep._

_And for the first time in months, he dreamed again of the day the sun went out._

* * *

><p>It was mid-morning when the train stopped at the station with a long, somewhat lazy-sounding whistle. Dianthus was a small town, little more than a village, and Quercus was the only one to get off the train at that station. The station itself was empty, as he had expected, and he didn't mind: he was actually only supposed to arrive in the late afternoon, but he had decided to catch the first train so that he could surprise his family. Of course, he was going to pretend he had forgotten to buy Laurie a present so that finding it on her pillow later would be even better.<p>

That meant he was going to have to walk through the village with his suitcase, but he didn't really mind: after having been away for almost four months he was certain he'd enjoy the walk through his hometown. Quercus breathed in the cold air – it felt so good after the months spent in a big, crowded and much warmer city – fixed his scarf and grabbed his suitcase before walking out of the station to head home. He barely had the time to take a few steps, though: moments after he had stepped out a sudden noise that sounded like an engine filled the hair, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"Wha…?" he began, then the noise grew stronger, and Quercus realized it came from above. He looked up, and he had just a moment to see the shape of a small plane flying above the station – the next instant all hell broke loose.

The explosion was terrible, deafening, annihilating; Quercus was thrown on the ground several meters away like a rag doll. The impact with the ground made him cry out in pain, but it was nothing compared with the blind panic that flooded his mind as he found himself unable to see anything past the dust that clouded the air, his eyes and throat burning. For a moment he thought he was going to die, but then a more rational part of his mind took charge again and he decided to move forward: whatever had happened could happen again and he knew he shouldn't stay there. He coughed and managed to get up and walk away, almost stumbling on the ruins of what had probably once been the building, pulling his scarf up so that it would cover his mouth.

Somewhere – above him and around him, everywhere – there were still those noises, the roars of plane engines and deafening explosions, but the smoke kept him from seeing anything and his mind refused to realize what it mean, what was happening, it couldn't be, it couldn't-

And then a gust of wind rushed over him and dissipated some of the dust and smoke and he could see, truly _see_ what was going on.

Most of the town was either gone or on fire, buildings torn down and craters on the streets – and in the midst if the rubbles he could see, through the dust, still forms that looked horribly like human bodies. And planes still flew over the town, still dropped bombs, tearing down more buildings and opening up new craters; there were people screaming and running away from the buildings, looking for cover they could not find, but Quercus didn't spare them a glance: his eyes were fixed toward one end of the village, where his house was.

There was a plane flying over the area, and he could see clearly the explosions and the smoke coming from there, and something was on fire, and… and…

His family. His family was there.

"No," he managed to choke out, and he didn't stop one more second to think: he immediately began to run through the town and to his home, paying no attention to the bombs that kept falling; he didn't care, he only wanted to reach his home to see his family and make sure they were _fine_.

It took him no more than fifteen minutes to reach his home, but it seemed so much more, for he had completely lost track of time. In some points the road was no more, and almost blinded by the dust and dazed by the deafening explosions all around him he almost fell into some crater several times, and once he stumbled on something that felt horribly like a dead body.

But in the end it didn't matter how much time it took him to reach his home, because he was too late, he had been too late from the moment the first bomb had been dropped. Only later it would occur to him that the first explosion must have made him lose consciousness for some time - only for a few minutes, perhaps, but a few minutes too many. By the time he arrived the planes were gone, the bombings had stopped – and what he found was nothing much a pile of rubbles in the middle of burning fields where his house had once stood.

For a moment Quercus almost managed to make himself believe he had made a mistake, taken a wrong turn; he almost managed to make himself believe that he was in the wrong place and that he wasn't staring at what was left of his home. But then he saw it on the other side of the road, broken but still standing – the oak tree in whose shade he had spent whole afternoons snoozing, the oak tree he had promised his sister he'd build the best tree house Cohdopia had ever seen in, the oak tree that stood in front of his house – and he knew that he was in the right place, that the pile of smoking ruins really was what was left of his home.

"No," he wheezed, limping to the ruins, barely aware of the dust and smoke and of the pain coming from the ankle he had sprained while running there. He found himself unable to even think as he desperately tried to see someone, anyone among the rubbles, and failed to. "Mother? Father? Anyone…?" he finally breathed. That feeble voice, was it really his own?

Quercus coughed and was about to call out again, but then his voice died on his throat as he saw something a few feet from him, something jutting out from under some debris – an arm, wedding ring glinting weakly on one finger from the light of the fire that burned in what had once been the garden. "Mother!" he called out, kneeling next to it; he ignored the painful impact of his knees on the debris and began furiously removing as much rubble as she could from his mother; maybe she was still alive, maybe she was only unconscious, maybe-

But then he removed another piece of debris and the arm fell – just _fell_ – onto a smaller pile of debris. Quercus found himself staring at the severed arm for several seconds, unable to move and think and react, as though his mind was just refusing to process what he was seeing. And once it did, once he knew, he found himself unable to even scream; he could only drop the debris he was still holding and scramble back, his eyes fixed on the severed arm, every detail – the burns, the stark whiteness of the bone, the smell of blood and burnt flesh – mercilessly etching itself in his mind.

"No!"

The cry that left him was more a cry of denial than one of despair, but it was still something; at least now he could tear his eyes off his mother's arm. He staggered away of a few steps, his hand covering his mouth, but aside from that no reaction came out of it, the sense of unreality too strong to allow him.

For a moment he dazedly thought that it couldn't be happening, it just couldn't, it was only a dream. He must have fallen asleep on the train, he thought. He was sure sleeping and would soon wake up to realize he had missed the station. He would have to take another train to get back and he'd probably be late and his family would mock him endlessly for that mess-up, but it didn't matter, it really didn't matter, because when he'd see them they'd be alive and laughing and-

And then Quercus' mind seemed to shut off, leaving him unable to think at all so that it wouldn't have to process what he was seeing now that the dust was starting to settle and the smoke was being dissipated by the wind – a small body lying beneath some rubbles with its face to the ground like a broken, discarded doll.

"Laurie," he rasped and for a few moments he didn't move, his ears buzzing, his mouth dry. And then it dawned on him that it wasn't a dream, that it was true, that his house was destroyed and his family… Laurie…

"LAURIE!" he finally cried out, rushing to crouch by her side. He frantically removed the rubble from her, picked her motionless body from the ground and took her in his arms to take her away from there, to look for help because she could be alive, she could still be alive – but that hope was shattered the moment he looked down at her.

The explosion that had torn off their mother's arm had left Laurie's body intact from the most part; her blonde hair and plain white dress - a dress that _had_ been white, once - were partially burnt, but she still had all her limbs, none of them missing. But her face… her face simply was no more. Quercus found himself staring at what was nothing but a bloody hole with something flashing white in it like grains of rice; it took him a few instants to realize it had to be some of her teeth. Her lower jaw seemed to be missing.

It was in that moment that Quercus' mind finally, _truly_ shut down. He said nothing, he thought of nothing; all he did was hold his sister's body in his arms and stare at what was left of her, barely even blinking, barely even breathing, not even noticing when it started to rain.

He would never know how long it lasted, minutes or hours: what happened next would always be foggy in his mind. Next thing he knew, he was startled out of his trance by a hesitant touch on his shoulder – but even then he didn't turn to face whoever was there: he was unable to tear his eyes off the small, broken body in his arms.

"Quercus, is it you?" a voice he would have recognized as a neighbour's had he been paying the slightest attention reached his ears. "Thank God you're alive, I feared… oh, my… Laurie…?"

"Laurie," repeated, his voice distant to his own ears; even later he wouldn't be able to tell whether he was replying to the other man's muted question, trying to call out for his sister once more or numbly repeating what he heard. His arms held the small, cold body tighter, refusing to let go. She was growing colder and her blood had soaked the front of his shirt, and he couldn't let go.

"I'm sorry," someone was saying somewhere above him. "Borginians… bastards… destroyed everything…"

"My suitcase," Quercus finally murmured.

"What?"

"My suitcase," he repeated dazedly. "Back at the station. I have to get it back. Her present is in there. I promised her."

"Quercus…"

"I promised," he repeated, and then he didn't speak anymore – he fell silent and finally tore his eyes off his little sister's corpse to glance up, where the sun was supposed to be. It was still hidden from sight, no light making it through the smoke of the fires and the dust the bombing had raised. It had gone out.

And in that moment Quercus Alba was sure it would never come back.

* * *

><p>"<em>Quercus? Hey, Quercus!"<em>

_Quercus' eyes snapped open to see the vague outline of someone looking down at him, a hand still on his shoulders. "Wha…?" he mumbled, sitting up._

"_You were talking in your sleep," his comrade, another recruit, let go of his shoulder and sat back on his own bunk. "Something about a promise and the sun going out. It didn't sound like you were having fun at all, so… uh… well, I didn't do something utterly stupid by waking you up, right?" he asked somewhat worriedly._

_Hadn't he been too busy chasing the memory away from his mind, Quercus might have even chuckled at the other young man's worry; Papilio Palaeno, always so eager to help, always wanting to make himself useful in his own clumsy way, insufferably cheerful most of the time._

"_I am fine," he just said. "Thank you. For waking me up," he added, and this time he was sincere._

"_You're welcome," Papilio said, keeping his voice low not to wake up the others. "What was it about? I mean… it's fine if you don't want to talk about it," he added quickly._

_No, Quercus didn't want to talk about it. "I can't remember. But whatever it was about must have not been pleasant. Goodnight," he said a little dryly, resting back on his bunk. But he didn't close his eyes to let himself drift off to sleep; he didn't dare._

_It looked like he still couldn't hope to have a dreamless sleep without at least taking a pill, but for now taking one was out of question: he couldn't let anyone see him as he took the pills. Nobody knew he had them, nobody knew he needed them, and nobody was going to ever know – he couldn't take the risk of letting anyone know how much he needed some dreams-suppressing drug to keep his sanity: even with the a war going on to pressure the army to take as many recruit as possible, he doubted they'd keep him in their ranks for one more second if anyone were to find out that._

_Then again, he thought tiredly, perhaps there would be no more dreams, not that night. After all, he had already dreamed the worst part; what came next had been nothing but a natural consequence of the bombing that had changed his life._

_He knew now that there simply had been no other option for him._

* * *

><p>It turned out that Laurie's body was the best preserved one, most likely because she had been upstairs when the bomb had struck; the house had collapsed on itself, the ground floor ending up in the basement, where the stacked wood had caught fire, and crushing the bodies of his parents and older sister beneath tons of rubble right after the explosion. Their remains fit into a couple of boxes – rather small ones.<p>

They were buried together, all of them, like all the families that had died together; and it was a high number, so high. The town's population had been decimated, and the few survivors wished more than anything they had died along with their loved ones. It was clear Dianthus would not be built again: its surviving inhabitants were to simply leave, find another place to live. Most of them were planning on moving in with distant relatives in some other town once they were done burying their dead.

Quercus didn't know what to do, nor he was in the right state of mind to make any decision about it. Of course, he knew that leaving was his only option: he had nothing left. His family was gone and his house was no more, destroyed with everything – objects, pictures, anything – that could prove his family had even existed. He was alone, he had no place to go, and he had little money: all his father had left him wouldn't be enough to cover the expenses for university for more than another couple of semesters, and there was simply no way he could take the law degree in so little time. He would drop his studies, that much was a given. And then… then he didn't know what he could do.

There wasn't anything in particular he was particularly good at, he mused bitterly as he stood in front of the ruins of his house. Nothing. And there were still moments when that was all he wanted to do – nothing. Just sit back and do nothing and wait to wake up from this nightmare.

But that wasn't going to happen, he had grown to realize. Nothing would be the same again.

Quercus scowled and turned his gaze away from the ruins to the other side of the road, where the fields were. Most of the field had burned and his house was gone, but the oak was still there: it was broken but not dead, only part of it having taken the damage of the explosion that had destroyed his house. New sprouts would soon start showing, and someday it would stand again just as tall and imposing as before – but Quercus wouldn't be there to see it and would never again rest in its shade. He would be… somewhere else. Hell only knew _where_, for he had no other relatives.

His eyes fell on the part of the oak that was seemingly untouched by the explosion, and his heart sank when he realized that it was right there, on those undamaged branches, that he had planned to build Laurie a tree house. The best tree house Cohdopia had ever seen, he had promised her. Now he would never get to keep that promise – and what was worse, perhaps if he had built it before leaving, when she had asked him to, there might have been a chance for her to be still a alive. Maybe she would have been playing there, and not inside their house, when the bombs struck; he would have come there to find the home in ruins and their parents and sister dead, but maybe he would have found Laurie still alive – shocked and terrified, but alive. And he would have been there to help her; he would have had a reason to _live_.

What did he have instead? Nothing. Nothing but the bitter knowledge that perhaps, if he hadn't been so lazy and had kept his promise, his sister could still be alive now. Quercus shut his eyes and hung his head, so overwhelmed with grief and loss that even breathing was painful, and for a moment he thought that it should have been him, that it wasn't fair that he should live while his parents and sisters had died, leaving him behind. Still, he didn't shed one single tear. He couldn't manage to even cry.

"Did you know someone who lived here, boy?"

An unknown man's voice snapped him from his thoughts. Quercus turned to see a tall man wearing a Cohdopian army uniform standing a few feet from him, a cigarette hanging from his lips. A Lieutenant, judging by the grades.

"Yes. I lived here," he found himself replying.

The man took a drag from the cigarette and released some smoke before giving a low whistle, his eyes scanning the ruins. "Then you're lucky to be alive, son," he said, sounding so _casual_ about it that Quercus felt the first pang of anger in what felt like forever – the only real emotion he had felt in days, past confusion and dizziness at first and then grief and loss – and he found himself clinging to it, embracing it.

"I'm not your son," he spat out. "And I was not _lucky_."

The man seemed unfazed. "You lost your family then, did you not? My condolences," he said. "Wish we could have done something about it, but the Borginian raid was unpredictable; not even a declaration of war before striking. Caught us completely by surprise, those cowards. And now they even try to claim it wasn't them – like we didn't all see the attack was carried by their planes with their bombs!"

His words did nothing to soothe the anger Quercus felt, but they did have the effect of changing the object of his hatred – his newfound anger, so strong it made his stomach hurt, was all for Borginia and its bombs now. "Why?" he found himself asking. "Why raid this town? There was nothing here. No important industries, no weapons, _nothing_. Only the people."

The soldier shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe they just felt like shedding some blood, those bastards. Now it is war, and they'll get what's coming to them. You'll see. Which is exactly why the army is here. Tell me, boy, do you have any idea what to do now?"

"No," Quercus replied, a part of him already knowing what he was driving at. "I take it the army is here looking for recruits."

The man chuckled. "Yes. If we are to fight this war and win, we'll need as much help as we can get – especially from young men like yourself. And since you lost so much to those bastards," the man added, looking at the remains of Quercus' house once more and then past it, to the hills beyond which the border was. "I suppose it would only be fitting for you to fight them. I'd be craving revenge in your place. Aren't you?"

Quercus scowled, anger still burning so hot and bitter in his chest that it was a true relief; so unlike the horrible dizziness and helplessness he had felt until that moment. "Of course I am," he growled. "How could I not?"

The man gave him a small nod. "In that case, do come to the town square. You can sign up and get through the medical examination right away; if you're considered fit, you'll be sent to a training camp right away. We're rather speeding up things to have more troops ready in the shortest time possible," he added, as though Quercus had asked for any explanations.

But he didn't, not then and not later. He merely nodded and followed him back to the centre of the devastated town, to the square where the army had settled to look for recruits. He silently signed up – he was lucky to still have a document to prove his identity, since it had been in his wallet all the time – and waited for his turn to be examined.

The psychological test had been reduced to only a few questions he had no trouble lying to by simply not mentioning the pills he had used to sleep without nightmares for the past week; it looked like they were in too much of a rush to have new recruits for the war to bother with carefully examining each recruit's psychological state.

The physical examination was the only thorough one. Quercus went though it as if in a daze, not saying anything unless he was expressly asked something, and before he knew it a copy of the certificate stating he was fit for joining the army was being pushed in his hand. Not even a week later he was in a military training camp, his only personal belonging being the clothes he had in his suitcase, which had been found still by the station.

He had only kept his clothes, throwing away the law books he now had no use for and burying the gift he had bought for Laurie – a small music box with a floral motif on it – along with her and the rest of his family; he still couldn't tell whether it was because he had wanted her to receive her gift regardless or because he couldn't stand the idea of keeping a memento like that.

But right on the first day even his civilian clothes, the last of his belongings, were stored away as well, replaced with a brand new uniform provided by the Cohdopian army. Quercus still couldn't know he would wear nothing but army uniforms for the rest of his life, or almost; in time he would come to refer to the day he had worn it for the first time as the first day of the rest of his life, always refusing to dwell on the part of his life that came _before_ that. The past did not matter, he would tell himself. The past was dead and buried, and never to be thought of again.

Recruit Quercus Alba, serial number 1336972, was ready to start his army training.


	2. Expendable

_A/N: here's the second chapter - I hope it doesn't disappoint. I have a handful more chapters done, so I should manage to update regularly enough. The next update should be in two weeks._

_Also, just in case one of this chapters' scenes seems familiar to someone, I should probably mention that it's from another fic I wrote, more specifically from the first chapter of "Corruptio Optimi" - which I wrote when I already had a few ideas about Alba's past in mind, but still no real plans on writing a more detailed fic about it. I didn't really like the idea of just taking a scene from one fic and drop it in another, but any attempt at re-writing the scene with a different wording or from a different angle ended up making it worse than the original for some reason, so in the end I decided to just keep it as it already was. _

* * *

><p>"Are you, uhm, feeling better this morning?" Papilio asked, as quietly as he could without his voice being completely covered by the sound of the other recruits' voices.<p>

"I am quite alright," Quercus replied briefly, not raising his eyes from what was supposed to be his breakfast – one of them had expressed some doubts that the stuff could possibly provide them with the necessary nourishment to withstand the intensive training, and the result hadn't been pretty; now they just guzzled it down without asking questions. At least it would fill their stomachs. "I was simply dreaming," he spoke again before Papilio could add anything. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring up the subject again."

Papilio nodded. "I won't," he said, a serious expression replacing the nervous one. "Sorry I brought it up."

"It's not a problem," Quercus muttered. Truth be told, he was rather grateful to him for waking him up, even if it hadn't been soon enough to spare him the memory of… of…

_No. Don't think. Don't._

Quercus bit his lower lip and tried to focus on something else, _anything_ but his own memories. He shot a quick glance at the officers' table – and scowled a little when his gaze fell upon Sergeant Cistus – before turning his gaze back to Papilio, who was currently eating busily. Quercus hadn't been one bit surprised when he had learned he was from the Babahlese region: he fit the stereotype in every possible way, down to the butterfly-themed name and the tan skin that contrasted with the blond hair.

What did surprise him, however, was that while they were far from friends they had ended up getting along reasonably well despite their rocky start. When they had first met they were trying on the uniforms, and Quercus was quite annoyed over the fact the one he had been given was far too tight for him; it looked like they had recruited more people than they could provide uniforms for, he remembered thinking in annoyance. He was considering the possibility of trying to ask around if anyone had a bigger one when he had heard someone coughing a little behind him; he had turned to see a young man about his age with blond hair and blue eyes looking at him a little nervously, and wearing an uniform that was definitely too large for him.

"Uh… hi. I noticed you were having trouble and I was thinking… maybe this one would fit you?" he had suggested, tugging slightly at the uniform he was wearing. "It's too large for me, but you're taller, so maybe we could switch…"

"I suppose it's worth a try," Quercus had commented before taking off the uniform again and handing to the other man, receiving his in return. As far as he was concerned they were done, but the other man had apparently decided chatting while they tried out each other's uniform would be a bright idea. At first it hadn't been too bad – Quercus would only nod and occasionally hum as he kept blabbering – but then the young man had started talking of his family back home and of an older brother who was serving in the army as well, and Quercus suddenly wanted nothing more but to make him just shut up or take his babbling elsewhere.

"I see my uniform fits you just right. You can keep it," he had said coldly, cutting him off and hoping he would just nod and walk away. Fat chance.

"Oh, thank you! And looks like mine fits you. It was quite a stroke of luck for both of us, wouldn't you say?" the blond man had chuckled before holding out his hand. "Oh, and I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Papilio Palaeno."

"Quercus Alba," Quercus had said, ignoring his outstretched hand and focusing on buttoning up the uniform, which thankfully fit him like a glove.

"Oh. Ahem," Papilio had cleared his throat a little embarrassedly before pulling back his hand. "Nice name. I take it you're from the Allebahstian region, eh? Like most people here, really. I'm starting to think I'm the only one from the Babahlese region in this camp."

Quercus – who had spoken to almost no one and thus had no idea where most recruits were from yet – had just shrugged. "You might be," he had said a little coldly as he finished buttoning up his uniform, wondering what in his behavior had made the man think he could be interested in the slightest in whatever he had to say.

"Oh. So you haven't met anyone else from my same region, eh?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I see," Papilio had paused for a moment, then he had shrugged and laughed good-naturedly. "Oh well, who says it's a bad thing? Butterflies love getting to pick among a lot of flowers," he had chuckled again, but his chuckle had died down quickly when he faced Quercus' blank gaze.

"I'm afraid I have to inform you I'm most certainly not interested," Quercus had said blankly, and Papilio had suddenly blushed.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. "I was just joking, you see. You know, butterflies and flowers…" he had paused for a moment, then he had dropped his shoulders "… Now it sounds even worse, doesn't it?"

Quercus had stared at him for a moment, then he had heard a chuckle, and he had been surprised to realize it was coming from his own mouth. He was chuckling. It hadn't happened since… it hadn't happened in a while. "It does," he had confirmed. "But since it appears no one else heard you, I'll just pretend this conversation never happened."

Papilio had smiled sheepishly. "Right. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"No, I really should-"

"Really, _don't_."

"… Right."

The memory of their first meeting made Quercus smile a little – a rare occurrence – and by the time they were done eating and headed off to their training the memories of what had happened the day the sun went out had been pushed to the back of his mind once more. They were still there lurking beneath the surface and would never leave, no matter how much he wanted them lost along with all memories before the army; but as long as they just sat in a corner of his mind, he could live with them.

Or so he hoped.

* * *

><p>"Oh God, I'm going to throw up," Papilio groaned as they stood to attention in the middle of the apparently endless yard of the Royal Palace in Allebahst, among several other troops that had completed their training and were now to take the traditional oath in the presence of the Cohdopian Royal family before actually heading off to war.<p>

"If you do, please turn to the other side while I pretend I don't know you," Quercus – who was far better than Papilio to control his own nervousness – murmured back, his eyes fixed on the gate through which the late queen's Consort and the Crown Princess were supposed to walk out at any minute.

The royalty of the Principality of Cohdopia had always followed a matriarchal line of succession: the throne was passed down from mother to the firstborn daughter, which was the reason why Cohdopia had had few kings since King Primidus. There could only be a king if the current Queen failed to have a daughter and only had sons. In times such as these, with the old queen having died before her daughter was old enough to rule, power would be temporarily assumed by either the High General and the Council or by the late monarch's Consort – but none of them would have the title of King; in ten years' time, as soon as the little princess was old enough to rule, they would all have to step back for the new queen to ascend to the Cohdopian throne.

The sudden sound of trumpets announced the arrival of the late queen's Consort Helianthus and Crown Princess Luzula. Quercus' eyes shot back to the gate, which was now open, and on the man and little girl who were now standing on the stage facing the waiting troops on attention. The Consort began speaking, but very few soldiers actually paid attention to him – most of the eyes were for the Crown Princess, their future ruler, who on the other hand seemed to be perfectly aware of the fact she was at the center of attention. And she clearly enjoyed it: she looked back at the soldiers with a hint of an amused smile on her lips, looking perfectly at ease, maybe even too much for such a young girl. She was certainly used to it, having been exposed to everyone's attention since her birth. Quercus wondered how old she precisely was. Perhaps somewhere around eight years old, he decided, barely older than-

_No. Don't think about Laurie. Don't think._

Quercus bit his lower lip and tore his gaze away from the young girl to turn his attention back her father, the Consort. He was talking about the importance of the army in the survival of Cohdopia, of the important role they were to play, and of how grateful the Royal Family was to them for the courage he was certain they would show in defending their country and granting Cohdopia victory. Despite his initial detachment, Quercus found himself growing prouder and prouder of himself, of his role, of his country as the man spoke in the most complete silence of the troops; he felt like he was ready to face anything, absolutely anything.

And he clearly wasn't the only one, for when the Consort spoke ritual words for the oath, asking them if they swore to serve their country to the last man, the last breath, the last drop of blood, the voice of each single person rang out strong and clear – _I swear._

* * *

><p>Quercus Alba would never forget the day of his first battle as long as he lived; every detail would stay etched in his mind with the sharpest clarity – from the fresh morning air as he woke up and the excitement he and his comrades had felt while the strategy was explained to them to the horror that would come later, the blood and screams and death. He would witness many more battles in his long life in the army, even worse ones with much bigger forces in motion – but that one, the one that had almost cost him his life, he would never forget.<p>

The battle was supposed to be brief: they were going to catch the enemy by surprise, they had been told. They would attack them quickly on their most vulnerable side and force them to retreat in an attempt to rearrange themselves for a counter attack only to be attacked from behind by another unit. It had seemed such a perfect plan, so simple, so easy. Too easy.

They had been lied to; the enemies were much more numerous and better armed than them, and their position was different from the one they had been told – the Borginians were in a position of advantage, and far from being taken by surprise they had actually needed little effort to launch a devastating counter attack. The whole unit had been used as a bait, a distraction so that other troops – troops made and led by people who actually counted – would attack the enemy from behind while they were busy decimating _them_: soldiers with no golden stars or medals to decorate their uniform, people who hadn't even been properly armed for a fight of a such magnitude, people who were nothing more than pigs raised for slaughter. People like him. Expendable.

When Quercus and his comrades had realized what was truly going on it had been too late, and then there had been no time for second thoughts or retreats: there had only been blood and death and screams, the heavy smell of gunpowder and the frightening realization that none of them would live to see the sunset.

And yet, Quercus Alba had lived at least enough to be granted that last sight: he could see the sun slowly disappearing behind the very same hill above the battlefield. But he did not enjoy the sight: too red, just like the blood – his own and his comrades' – soaking the ground they had fought for. He had had enough of blood for the rest of his life, which was going to be cut short very soon in any case. The wound on his side wasn't bleeding much now, but he knew that his end was just delayed. He had lost too much blood, he was dehydrated, the wound was serious and no one was coming to help him. He was going to die, he was certain of that, but he wasn't hurting anymore, something he supposed he should be grateful for.

He was not, however – he felt nothing at all. No pain, no anger, no sadness and certainly not gratitude. Maybe it was better that way.

Quercus shut his eyes and rested his head back on the ground, the red circle of the sun still visible as though it had been imprinted in his retinas. He couldn't tell whether he was the lone survivor of his unit or not; he simply didn't have enough strength to even try calling out for other survivors. Then again, there were probably none. He envied them: no man should lie severely wounded in a blood-soaked battlefield among hundreds of dead bodies – bodies of men who had been his family for months, from his recruitment up to now – while feeling his life slipping away with each laboured breath and then live to tell it. No one.

But then again he wouldn't live for much longer, would he?

_At least we won the battle._

A bitter chuckle escaped him as the thought crossed his mind. Who cared about the battle? He hadn't won anything. _They_ had won; the ones who had sent him and his comrades to their death without a second thought. The glory of victory would be theirs. People of Cohdopia would remember their names. His own name, along with hundreds of others, would be lost as if he never even existed. The only ones who'd remember then for a short time were their friends and family, people as expendable and worthless as themselves… and maybe not even that. Quercus wondered if he were the only one in that battalion who had no family who'd want his body back for mourning, and how many of them would be simply buried together in a mass grave whose location would soon be forgotten.

"Q… Quercus…?"

The feeble voice that reached his ears was barely a raspy whisper, and for a moment he thought he had been hearing things; but he did open his eyes and, with what felt like a supreme effort, turned to see the source of the sound. What he saw at first was only a mess of blood and ripped flesh and shattered bones; then the form moved, and Quercus recognized a body at first – bent in an unnatural position, legs missing, bones sticking out – and then a face, and eyes looking at him. That face had been handsome, but now a large bleeding gash made it almost unrecognisable; the hair had been blond, but now it were matted with red and its colour was impossible to see. What Quercus recognized were the blue eyes, so _blue_ and so widened with horror.

"Papilio," he heard himself rasping.

The other man gave no sign of hearing him. "They… sent us… to die," he choked out.

Quercus supposed he should have felt at least something now. Horror, pain, sorrow, pity, rage, anything. But he still did not. "So they did," he just said.

"They… betrayed…!"

"No. They did not."

This time it was clear Papilio had heard him, for he trailed off and gave a gurgling noise that sounded like a question. Or maybe he was simply trying not to choke in his own blood, but Quercus took it as a question.

"They did what… was necessary. To win the battle." He shut his eyes and swallowed, and he finally did feel something, something akin to regret; not regret for not foreseeing what was coming for him and his comrades, but for not being one of those who counted, one of the ones in the rooms of powers moving people around the battlefield like pawns on a chessboard.

Had he been one of them, had he had the time to climb ranks in the army… he wouldn't have found himself in this situation. He wouldn't have been about to die as he was now. He would have been one of those whose names would be remembered, and not just some nobody dying in the middle of a battlefield because of a wound a good doctor could have treated easily enough. If only he was given enough time…!

A soft, sobbing sound snapped him from his thoughts. Quercus opened his eyes again and turned to see Papilio sobbing like a child despite the pain the slightest movement had to cause him, tears streaming down his ruined face and washing away some of the blood. He was a truly pathetic sight, and in a moment terror gripped Quercus' throat – terror that if Papilio kept crying like that it would be too much for him to bear, terror that he would break down like him and turn into a pathetic, whimpering mess as well.

_No, God, no. Let me meet a dignified death. At least grant me this._

It shouldn't have even mattered how he died, for no one who had the slightest chance to live would see and no one would know – even if someone knew, who would remember him and his death for long anyway? – but the thought he could lose all restraint like that repulsed him.

"Stop," he rasped. "Stop that."

The sobs didn't stop, they only grew weaker and even more insufferable. Quercus felt as though that soft whimpering was now coming from his own head rather than from the outside, and he suddenly couldn't hear anything else, and he couldn't stop it, and he knew he'd go insane if it didn't stop now.

"Stop. Stop!" he tried to yell, but his whole chest burned and he could only gasp.

The weeping didn't cease.

_Stop it, stop it, oh God make it stop please make it STOP!_

What happened next would forever stay fuzzy in Alba's memory, but he would remember reaching to his left, where yet another fallen comrade lay, and taking the pistol still in his cold, dead hand. He aimed blindly and pulled the trigger, the bang deafening and the smell of gunpowder overpowering even the smell of blood, and Papilio's wailing abruptly ceased.

It took him a few minutes to open his eyes again, the abrupt movement having reopened the wound on his side. The pain had awakened, and it was quickly getting unbearable – but at least he now he had the means to make it stop quickly, didn't he? Quercus smirked to himself, held the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.

There was a click, and nothing else happened. The chambers were empty: there would be no easy way out for him.

Quercus gave a groaning noise of dismay and let the pistol fall on the ground before turning to look at Papilio's corpse. His face was no more, but at least his agony was over and no one who mattered anything would actually mourn him. What about him now?

Quercus grimaced and turned away from Papilio, his head still resting on the blood-soaked ground, his eyes searching for something – anything – that wasn't a dead, broken body. He couldn't manage to move, but if there were a weapon within his reach, any weapon-

What he saw just next to his face, however, was not a weapon, nor it was a corpse or a disembodied limb. It was something he surely hadn't expected to see in a battlefield after a battle such as this one, after all the blood and death and screams – a flower. A passionflower, he realized with an odd sense of awe. How could something as fragile as a flower have possibly survived in the midst of a battle such as that one?

And yet, there it was. Quercus shut his eyes and then opened them again, but the flower was still there, beautiful and untouched. Not even a petal had been tarnished; it was in full bloom and stood there, in the middle of a small patch of grass stained by blood. Quercus could remember seeing his mother pouring some cow's blood in her garden what felt like a lifetime earlier – before the war, before the garden was destroyed along with his house and family – while saying that it was good for the plants once in a while, and he confusedly wondered if his own blood and his comrades' was what that flower was feeding on right now. Maybe their blood would help other flowers to grow. He hoped it would. It would be the one proof they had ever existed in the first place.

That flower. It was so beautiful. It was perfect. Fragile and still able to survive where so many men couldn't. Much like him – but he wasn't going to live for much longer, was he? Then again, a flower's life was short as well. He almost reached to touch it, but he restrained himself – he didn't want to stain it with his blood. He just stayed there, his eyes fixed on that small wonder in the middle of death, and he suddenly felt no rush to die. He could as well rest back and simply enjoy the sight as he waited for his death. And so he stared, and waited for death to come.

But someone else got there before death could. After what felt like hours but was actually barely minutes Quercus was snapped from his trance by footsteps and voices, confused at first, but quickly approaching and soon becoming clearer, until he clearly heard a voice only feet from where he was.

"Hey! Can anyone hear me? Is there someone still alive?"

Unable to even lift his head, Quercus had no way to know whether those were friends or enemies, but he didn't care. He opened his mouth to cry out, but only a gurgling noise left him – too low for anyone to hear him. But if they walked by him without realizing he was alive, if he didn't get help _now_…!

"We're Cohdopians! Is there anyone left? Anyone…?"

Quercus acted out without thinking: he reached to take the now useless pistol he had dropped on the ground by his side and used up all strength he had left to throw it towards the voice. If even that failed, if they didn't find him…!

"What…? Hey, there must be someone still alive here. I'm going to take a look. You keep looking over there…"

Something awfully close to a sob escaped him as he let his hand fall back on the ground, any strength he had left having finally leaving him, and only seconds later a man appeared in his field vision and knelt next to him. "Over here! This one is still alive!" he called out before turning his full attention back to him. "What's your name, soldier?"

But Quercus wasn't listening. "The flower," he gasped.

"What?"

"Move… move!" he chocked out, his fingers uselessly trying to push away the man's right knee from the spot on the ground it was resting onto – the spot where the flower was. "You're killing it…!"

The other man put a hand on his shoulder. "You have a fever. You must be delirious," he muttered, but he did shift so that he wouldn't be kneeling on that spot anymore. "Don't worry, you'll be alright. We'll fix you up, son, you'll be fine…"

Whatever he was babbling had no meaning for Quercus, not anymore. He reached out again and this time his fingers found the flower, trampled and flattened, but it was still there. He grasped it, and smiled, his saviour's words getting harder and harder to make sense of as he finally began slipping out of consciousness, his voice reaching his ears as if from miles away.

"Hang on, boy, help is almost here. You're going to make it, you hear me? You'll be fine. It's not time for to go yet, it's not-!"

What he said next was lost to Quercus: he had already shut his eyes and let his mind sink into nothingness.

* * *

><p><em>"… And with today's armistice the war has ceased; Borginia acknowledged defeat. The reparations to be paid to Cohdopia will be soon-"<em>

Quercus let out a disgusted snort and shut off the radio before leaning back on the hospital bed with a scowl. Reparations, he thought bitterly. His whole family killed by bombs, all of his comrades slaughtered so that high in the army someone would get to look good for the victory their sacrifice had made possible – what _reparations_ could possibly make up for all that had been lost?

Quercus shut his eyes as he recalled his house's ruins and his mother's arm, Laurie's corpse and Papilio's, the blood and death and screams on the battlefield – and Papilio's agonizing whimpers and cries before he ended it all. His hands balled into fists. No, no reparations could make up for that.

A bitter scowl twisted his features as he thought back of the enthusiasm and pride he and his comrades had felt when they had taken the oath to fight for their country; to the last man, the last breath, the last drop of blood, they had sworn. They had thought there really was something worth fighting for – lies! They had been nothing but expendable, useful puppets in the hands of those who were now taking all the credit, all the glory of victory without having to face any of the sacrifices that had come with it. Those who had fought and died for it would be forgotten by history, their names lost. What a joke!

"I see you're awake, Sergeant Major. I was hoping as much."

Quercus blinked and turned to see a man wearing an army uniform walking in the room – a colonel, judging by the grades on his shoulders. He stiffened, unsure whether he should get up and stand at attention despite his still healing wound, but the man gestured for him to stay down. "At ease," he said affably, stopping to stand at the end of the bed. "No need to strain yourself."

Quercus nodded and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir, but… I think you might have walked in the wrong room."

The man raised an eyebrow. "You are Quercus Alba, are you not?"

"Yessir."

"Then I am in the right place," the man said "I am Colonel Glaucium; the High Command sent me to make sure your recovery is proceeding swiftly and to congratulate you. You're the only survivor of a unit of heroes, after all."

It took Quercus quite an effort of will not to openly scowl at those words. He hated it how they seemed to think that praising the men they had knowingly sent to certain death would somehow make it better; they were not heroes who had willingly faced certain death, they were only young men who had been lied to and sent to die without being given a choice in the matter. Still, his anger was not directed at the man standing in front of him, nor to the High Command for having approved of a strategy that required so many sacrifices: he was furious at _himself_ for having been so gullible, for thinking his life wasn't as worthless and as expendable as an insect's. He wasn't anyone important, he wasn't influential, he wasn't powerful – therefore his life was worth nothing. It was simple as that.

Quercus shook his head a little to get rid of such thoughts before replying. "I am deeply honored, sir," he said blankly. "But I'm afraid there is a mistake. I'm not a Sergeant Major. I'm just-"

"Oh, you are now," the colonel cut him off. "Weren't you told already? My, what an oversight. My apologies. I suppose the end of the war made everyone so euphoric that some communications were lost on the way. But no matter, it can easily be fixed. Looks like I get the honor of letting you know that as one of those who made our final victory possible, you have been promoted – twice."

Quercus found himself staring blankly at him. "I have?" he asked, his mind trying to make sense out of what he had just been told. They had promoted him of more than just one rank – but why? He doubted it was kindness or gratitude from their part: there had to be a reason for them to do that.

"Yes," Colonel Glaucium was confirming. "A medal will also be awarded to you once you've recovered and able to travel back to Allebahst. It will of course be meant to commemorate your fallen comrades as well. It's a token of our gratitude to all of them. I hope you'll wear it with pride."

So that was it, Quercus thought: both his promotion and the medal were simply meant to satisfy him so that he wouldn't go complaining, and to show off how _grateful_ the High Command was to those they had sent to die. Only that they wouldn't put it like that, would they? They would pick something that sounded better – 'those who died for our country', most likely. In retrospect, they had to consider a stroke of luck that one of those _heroes_ had survived: rewarding him for the sake of his fallen comrades gave them a chance to make their little act more credible.

Quercus knew he ought to be disgusted, should refuse to be part of that game, but how could he do that? They had done what was needed to win the war, and nothing he said or did about it was going to change the fact they had done the right thing in the eyes of the nation. If he were to try speaking up against them, try to tell how things really went and how he and his comrades were lied to, he would be deemed a liar; even if someone were to believe him, they'd think it had been a necessary sacrifice. What were the lives of a handful of obscure soldiers in the great scheme of things? What was _his_ life compared to a won war? Nothing.

And exactly because it was nothing, eliminating him if he threatened to become a nuisance would be easy for them – and he had no doubt they would resort to that if they felt like it was needed. Was it worth it, risking assassination for what he already knew was a lost cause?

No, he told himself, it wasn't. There would never be justice for his family or for his fallen comrades, and now he knew it; hoping otherwise would only mean deluding himself. There was only one good thing he could get out of this whole ordeal – the possibility to use his promotion to further climb ranks. High ranking military men could become extremely powerful and influential in a country that relied so much on its military; and if he could climb up to the top, or close enough… then he would no longer be one of those purposely sent to slaughter.

If sacrifices were necessary, he would never again find himself in the position of being expendable: he would be one of those that _mattered_, and then no one – _no one_ – would ever again use him for their ends. He'd be the one in power, the one to make decisions and move people on the battlefield like pawns on a chessboard – and then, since justice was denied to him, perhaps he could at least have revenge.

"I'll be honoured and proud to wear it, Colonel," Quercus finally head himself saying, eyes lowered and voice humble; a good dog, he thought sarcastically, hearing his own voice as though from miles away.

That was clearly what the man had been hoping to hear. He smiled widely. "I'm happy to hear that, Sergeant Major. We are looking forward to your return to service – which means I should probably leave you alone now so that you can rest. The sooner you recover, the sooner you'll be back among us. And rest assured," he added, turning to the door. "Your bravery will not be forgotten when it comes time for you to return to duty. Nor will we ever forget your fallen comrades, of course."

Quercus bit back a scathing retort on how neither him nor the High Command knew or would ever know a thing about the people they had sent to die and now claimed they'd remember. He simply nodded. "Thank you, sir," was all he said as the colonel left.

Once again alone in the room Quercus stayed silent, staring at the now closed door without actually seeing it and waiting to feel something over the fact he had just pretty much sold his soul – anger, shame, disgust, sadness, _anything_.

But he felt nothing – no anger, no shame, no disgust, no sadness. Nothing.

As though he simply had no soul left to sell.


	3. Young Old Man

**Langei, Babahlese region, 1972**

"Are the orders perfectly clear, Captain Alba?" Colonel Consolida asked, looking up from the map he had been observing to look at his underling. "Repeat it all for me, if you will."

"Yessir. I am to stay with the part of the troops you'll put under my direct command to guard and if necessary, to protect this village and the surrounding mines," Quercus replied, still standing at attention. "In the event of an attack we cannot handle, we'll call for reinforcements and hold off the enemy for as long as we can. Should we be defeated, we'll mine both the railways and the whitecrystal mines, destroy them so that the enemy can't gain control of either, and then retreat."

The colonel nodded. "Very well. I was sure I could count on you, captain," he said. "It is a quite a responsibility for someone so young. You're not even thirty, are you?"

"I'm twenty-five, sir."

"Oh, that's right. And this is the third war you've been in already, is it not? My, such troubled times. A war with Reijam was the last thing we needed now," the colonel said absentmindedly before clearing his throat. "At any rate, I'm sure you're going to do a good job here."

"I'll do my best, sir," Quercus replied, but it took him some effort to hide his disappointment. What everyone seemed to think of as a privileged position – sent to guard a village, away from the front lines, at the head of soldiers that in most cases were older than himself – made him feel as though he had just been caged. How long would he have to stay in that backwater village with a handful of men just in case anything happened while the other troops were fighting that war, doing something meaningful that would result in them climbing ranks?

"I'm sure you will. We cannot let the mines near this village or the railways that run through it fall into the enemy's hands. If they attack and you do well at protecting this place, you'll certainly benefit from it," the colonel said affably before gesturing for him to leave. "And of course, as soon as this village is no longer in danger, you and the others will be called to join the rest of the troops again. You are dismissed."

Quercus felt eager at the mere thought – if he wanted to keep climbing ranks, he could not miss one single opportunity. "I look forward to it, sir," he said before saluting once again and leaving.

Perhaps he wouldn't have to stay in that accursed village for long.

* * *

><p>Quercus gritted his teeth as he heard some chattering behind him. Those blasted children, he thought – hadn't they had enough of soldiers in the past two weeks?<p>

"Why don't you take a picture? It will last longer," he snapped, turning to glare at the children who were staring at him and his uniform in awe from behind a few barrels. They scattered away immediately, some of the giggling and some other giving small shrieks, and Quercus' gaze lingered on one of them for a few moments – a little girl with blonde hair that had to be around the same age as-

_No. Don't_.

Quercus clenched his jaw and turned away, gazing at the hills beyond the outskirts of the village. Miles away from there a war was being fought, and he was still stuck there. After two weeks and still apparently no closer to leaving that place, his patience was wearing thin. But what was he to do? Most of the men he had under his command were far too glad to be spending their time in the relative safety of the village, and they wouldn't agree to move without a direct command – a command he did not have the authority to give. Yet.

"You certainly aren't fond of children, are you?" An amused voice snapped him from his thoughts. Quercus turned to see a woman standing a few feet away from him – one of the women of the village, for sure. He couldn't remember seeing her before, but then again he had hardly paid attention to any civilians, and she was a rather unremarkable person to boot: short, with plain woollen clothes and the figure of a woman who had given birth at least once. The little hair visible from beneath the plain white headscarf was of a mousy brown, and there were small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes – Quercus supposed she had to be in her late thirties.

"I didn't join the army to baby-sit civilians," he said sharply. "Much less their children. Not to mention I strongly doubt we'd be able to defend this place with civilians in the way. You and the others should have been sent elsewhere."

"And where?" the woman asked, sounding more curious than angered or offended – curious, and somewhat resigned.

"I don't know. Anywhere but here," he replied, hoping that would end the conversation. Fat chance.

"There are old people among us, and many children. The trains have all been taken for army supplies. The colonel said that the army couldn't afford to provide us any means of transportation and that we'd have to walk if we wanted to leave the area. We wouldn't get far on foot in the dead of winter."

Quercus frowned. "That's none of the army's concern. There is a war going on, and-"

"Yes, there is. And you're supposed to be fighting it for us, aren't you?" she cut him off, causing him to abruptly shut his mouth. "But we are not what you're really fighting for, are we?" she asked softly, though it was clear she wasn't asking as much as stating a fact. There was a half smile on her face. It unnerved him.

"What are you talking about? The army-"

"I'm not talking about the army. I'm talking about _you_," she interrupted him once more, her eyes oddly inquisitive now. "All the other soldiers seem to be fine with staying here. There is enough food, places to sleep warm, and it's safe. Not to mention that with most men of the village away to serve in the army, they get little competition," she added, and her lips briefly curled in a smile. "But you're not like them. You keep yourself away, speak to no one but other soldiers and of nothing but war. I live there," she nodded toward one of the houses on their left. "And I saw you coming here often to look towards the borders like an animal looking outside its cage. You want to fight, but at the same time you don't seem to care for the people you're supposed to fight for. That's why I'm asking – if not for the people of your country, what is it you want to fight for?"

For a few moments Quercus stared at her blankly, as though he didn't understand what she had just said, then the memory of his house in ruins, his mother's garden destroyed and then Laurie and Papilio's faceless corpses flashed through his mind in an instant, and he felt a sudden surge of anger towards the woman. It took him a noticeable effort to keep himself from hitting her. "You're speaking nonsense," he snapped. "I fight this war and fought others before this one because I'm a soldier, and as a soldier I want civilians to stay out of the way. That's all."

Quercus wasn't sure what reaction he was expecting from her; he could have expected her to either press further or finally leave him alone, but what he hadn't expected her to do was laugh.

"What is it?" he growled, scowling at her. He felt like she was making fun of him, and he loathed being ridiculed. If she didn't stop laughing right _now_…! "Stop that!"

She chuckled for a few more instants before finally collecting herself. "My apologies, it's just that…" she snickered again, and for a moment she looked a lot younger than she had to be. "You sound a lot like someone I once knew. But you look so young," she sounded almost motherly as she looked at him more closely, something that somehow made him feel even more unnerved than her laughter. "How old are you?"

Quercus crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't see how that would be of any interest to you," he said irritably.

"My, I'm simply asking. It's no big secret, is it?"

He snorted. "I'm twenty-five," he finally said. "Now that-"

"So young!" she exclaimed, looking mildly surprised. "And you're in charge here? I thought you were at least a couple of years older…"

"I was promoted quickly," he cut her off. "Unlike those who probably tried and failed to defend your village earlier, I'm good at what I do."

She chuckled. "There you go again."

"What?"

"You act older, and you speak like a seasoned soldier," she explained. "People in my village would call you a young old man. So would I, if you don't mind. It fits you."

Quercus scoffed. "Call me whatever you'd like. But now I'd appreciate being left alone."

Thankfully, she didn't insist. "Very well. My children must be wondering where I am in any case," she said, then she smiled at him again, once again somewhat motherly. "What's your name, young old man?"

"Quercus Alba," he replied, hoping she'd just leave if he simply replied.

"A powerful name. Fitting for someone who was born this old," she turned to leave and head into her home, but then she paused, and turned back. "Do you think there will be a battle soon?"

He gave a low hum. "Maybe. The enemy is still beyond the hills; if they'll decide to try taking the mines and seize control of the railways to keep the supplies from reaching our army at the front lines, then yes. We'll know it if they do and will meet their attack on top of the hills, so that we'll still have an advantageous position. Stay as far back from the front line as you can should that happen. Take cover and let us handle them."

She nodded. "I will. I hope you'll learn to enjoy your stay until then, young old man."

Quercus grumbled something as a response, not even turning to look at her as she left. Civilians, he thought. They were odd people. It didn't even occur it to him that he had once been a civilian, too; that part of his life was over, and it felt like it had been a lifetime ago, memories blurring and fading.

But it was better that way. It was exactly what he wanted, he told himself. He wanted those memories lost.

He _needed_ them lost.

* * *

><p>"Captain Alba, sir!"<p>

Quercus – who had been pacing back and forth through the village square for a while now, waiting for the daily report from his men – turned so quickly that his neck almost cracked. "Corporal," he said, staring at the man now standing at attention in front of him. "Report."

"Enemy scout, sir!" the corporal immediately blurted out. "He's coming here through the woods on the western side. We only saw him for a moment, sir!"

Quercus frowned. "Only one scout?"

"Yes, sir. We think he might have been sent to monitor the situation and see if the village and its mines and railways are guarded."

"That's most likely, yes," Quercus replied, rubbing his chin in through briefly. "Say, did he see you?"

"No, he didn't. As you asked, I stayed hidden all the time. What are we to do, sir? Should we capture or kill him? We have snipers, and-"

"No," Quercus replied with a shake of his head. "If he doesn't come back, they'll know we're here in any case. We should deal with this scout the same way spies are dealt with."

"Sir?"

"If you were to catch a spy," Quercus asked, staring straight at the corporal with an amused smirk on his face, "what good would it do to kill them? Another one can be sent to replace them. No, the best way to deal with a spy is to keep them thinking their cover wasn't blown and feed them the information you want to be passed to whoever sent them. In this case, the enemy. Call all the men at once: I want both the hills and the village itself to be left completely unguarded. I want them all armed and ready to head off to the mines before the scout can reach this place."

"Sir?" the man looked even more confused now.

"I'll explain the reason as we go, but now there is no time to lose – we can't allow the scout to see any of us. Now _go_!" Quercus snapped, and he couldn't hold back an eager smirk as he watched him leave. He knew he was taking a risk, but if his plan went smoothly it would pay off. After all, it was only logic that only a small number of men would be sent to seize control of a supposedly unprotected village; and while the number of men he had at his disposal was small as well, they would have surprise on their side. It would be a quick victory.

And then, if he could manage to capture the radio operator alive, he could make the most out of it. The thought almost made him laugh – after almost thee weeks of inaction, there was his chance. Maybe not even being kept away from the front line would keep him from climbing up more ranks. It was just perfect.

"Is it true what the soldiers are saying? Are there enemy troops on the way?"

Quercus turned to see that several villagers were staring at him. There were a few children that looked both excited and scared, a couple of them clinging to their mothers' gowns. The old man who had spoken seemed awfully tense as well. Well, no wonder. "Yes," Quercus said. "They are."

"Then why are you all leaving the village?" a woman asked, her voice shaking. "Are you going to just let them…?" she felt silent and drew in a shaky breath, clearly scared at the mere thought.

"Mommy, why are the soldiers leaving?"

"What will we do now?"

"We have no weapons nor men fit to fight! You can't leave us alone!"

"You bastard! You're supposed to protect-!"

"You!" Quercus snapped, causing the boy who had spoken last – he was no older than fifteen – to shut his mouth and take a step back. "You shall _never_ address me with such a word again, or else…!"

A woman stepped up and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, pulling him back a little. "Please, do excuse my son," she said quietly, and Quercus realized it was the same woman he had spoken to barely two days before. He scowled, but he eventually shrugged.

"I suppose he's not entirely to blame if you failed to discipline him properly," he said coldly. The boy glared at him and looked like he wanted to insult him again, but his mother's grip on his shoulder tightened, and he didn't. It was she who spoke again.

"I suppose you must have a reason to order your men to leave the village unguarded," she stated, briefly glancing at the other villagers, and Quercus realized she was mutely asking them to give him a chance to explain.

He nodded. "Indeed," he said, then he raised his voice so that his men – who were now all in the square as well – could hear him as well; they had little time to lose, so there was no point in wasting it by repeating the same things twice. "One of my men caught sight of an enemy scout; he's certainly here to see whether or not the village is protected, and if so how many soldiers there are to guard it. Needless to say, if he were to report that there are soldiers guarding it, whoever is leading the enemy troops in the area would most certainly decide to send more men than he'd send to take over an unguarded village with only elderly people, women and children in it. So it would go to our advantage if the scout were to report this village is unprotected, wouldn't you agree? The fewer men they send, the more easily we'll be able to subdue them."

The villagers seemed extremely relieved by the explanation; the boy who had called him a bastard, Quercus noticed, was now staring at him almost in awe.

"Oh, that's a good plan…"

"Yes, it could work…"

"…Thought they were just leaving us to our fate…"

"But where are you going to hide?" a woman's voice asked, and Quercus wasn't too surprised to see it belonged to… to the annoying woman he had met two days earlier, whatever her name was. "I suppose that our houses are not an option, unless you're planning to start the fight inside the village."

Well, Quercus thought, if anything she wasn't quite as dim-witted as most of the others seemed to be. "We'll hide in the mines at the base of the hills," he explained, "and we'll wait there until the troops will cross the hills to get to the village – the moment they make it to the base, we'll attack. They'll be caught by surprise and unprepared, and the fight should be over quickly. We'll also be far enough from the village so that no harm will come to any of you. Which is why I have to ask you to behave normally," he added, looking each villager straight in the eyes. "If the scout were to come across a deserted village with all the inhabitants locked inside their homes it would come off as suspicious. Carry on with your usual activities as though nothing was going on. Nothing will happen to any of you. Is that clear?"

They all nodded.

"Very well," Quercus said. "I hope my men paid attention as well. Did you?"

"Yessir!"

"I didn't hear you."

"YESSIR!"

He chuckled. "Much better. Needless to say not only must the battle be over quickly, but we'll also have to make sure none of them can escape: if only one of them can make it back to the rest of the troops we might be in trouble. Our snipers will not join the battle: the moment it breaks out I want you to run up the hill so that you can shoot from above whoever tries to escape. The survivors will be our prisoners. Another thing – try to keep the radio operator alive, and their radio working. If we can get him to send the rest of the enemy army the message we want, we'll have quite an ace up our sleeve."

"YESSIR!"

Well, Quercus thought with an amused smirk, weren't they enthusiastic now. "Let's get going, then," he said. "We have to be hidden in the mines before the scout arrives. As for you, behave as though everything were normal," he added, looking at the villagers. "I promise nothing will happen to any of you. Tell the others."

They all nodded, this time looking at him with unmistakable respect – something that pleased him immensely for some reason – and immediately went back to their daily chores as the soldiers marched out of the village and to the mines.

* * *

><p>The battle was even briefer than Quercus had dared to hope, and the results had been even better than he had expected: the enemy truly had only sent a handful of men to take over the supposedly unprotected village, and they had managed to catch them by surprise with a rear attack the very same moment they had begun marching towards the village.<p>

Oh, they knew how to fight, Quercus had to give them that – some of his men had been killed and several others wounded, including himself – but they had eventually been defeated. Most of the troops had been killed either during the first attack or by the snipers, and the survivors had now been disarmed and taken as prisoners; they all sat on the ground now, hands bound behind their backs and held at gunpoint – the radio operator being among them. It was perfect, Quercus thought with a smirk, just perfect; not even the pain coming from the wound on his arm where a bullet had hit him could dull the satisfaction.

"How's your wound, sir?"

Quercus glanced down at his wounded arm. It hurt and there was quite a lot of blood, but nothing vital had been hit; he could move the arm if he ignored the pain and the bullet had exited the wound. All in all, it was nothing serious at all. "It's quite alright. I'll just have it cleaned once we're back at the village. Now, about out guests-"

_"You cowards!"_

Quercus smirked as one of said guests yelled once more. It looked like the captain who had been leading the enemy troops was quite the sore loser. "Excuse me?" he asked, turning to look at him. Unlike the others, he hadn't been tied up yet: he was being held by two men, and he was trying to break free.

"You're nothing but cowards!" the man screamed again, his face crimson and twisted in anger. "This was no battle – this was a vulgar _ambush_!"

"This, coming from someone who was about to attack a village with only civilians in it?" Quercus took a step closer to the other man and sneered. "You shouldn't be trying my patience, captain. I have little sympathy for those who drag civilians into matters that should only involve the army."

The man spat. "I'll be taking no preaching from you! I should have known that you Cohdopian dogs wouldn't fight fairly!" he growled, still trying without success to break free from the grasp of Quercus' men.

"Fight fairly?" Quercus repeated with a laugh. "As the saying goes, all's fair in love and war. I can't say I care much for love, but when it comes to _war_," he smiled and took his pistol to lift it to the other man's face, savoring the way his eyes widened in sudden dread, "I can confirm that indeed, all is fair."

He pulled the trigger, and a shot rang out. The man's body reared back and then went limp, his eyes rolling back in their sockets, blood running from the gaping hole on his forehead. The two soldiers that had been holding him let him fall unceremoniously on the ground. Quercus put his pistol back in place and turned to another soldier, ignoring the screams and curses of the soldier whose captain he had just executed. "I know there's a mine that is no longer used among these. Ask a villager which one it is and throw the bodies in it."

"You mean… the enemies' bodies, sir?" the soldier asked uneasily.

Quercus was about to tell him to just throw all the bodies there, but he stopped himself just in time. Even though he'd have no issues throwing the bodies of his fallen men in the improvised mass grave as well – a corpse was just a corpse, empty shells of men destined to oblivion anyway, so why bother? – he knew that soldiers could get ridiculously sentimental about such matters.

"Yes, of course," he finally said. "The enemy's. Bring back our dead to the village; we'll give them a proper burial. As for the prisoners," he turned to glance at them. "I want you to lock them in the basement of the village's school, so that they can't escape. Aside from him," he added, nodding towards the radio operator, who paled. "We're going to have a chat at the old barn as soon as my wound has been taken care of. We have a few things to discuss, and a possible agreement to reach."

"Yessir."

* * *

><p>Quercus cursed under his breath as he glared at the doctor, who was currently working to get a bullet out of one of his men's shoulders. The wait wasn't what truly bothered him since the pain had dulled: the cold was. The wound was on his upper arm, and to avoid having the clothes stick to the wound because of the blood he'd had to take his shirt and jacket off.<p>

And to think that his wound, unlike those of the men the doctor was currently fussing over, only needed to be cleaned! Any of his men could do it, but those who were not wounded were currently making sure the prisoners could not escape or burying their fallen comrades, so it looked like he was going to have to wait and hope he wouldn't freeze to death first. He snorted a little and sat more comfortably on the bench – as comfortably as he could without resting his bare back against the cold wall. The wound was in a spot that would be impractical for him to bandage by himself, or else he would have taken care of it already. Maybe he should just give up on waiting for that good for nothing sawbones to be done sewing up his men and ask some villager to-

"I heard you were wounded, young old man. Has the doctor already seen your wound?"

Quercus blinked and turned to the person who had just spoken. "You again," he muttered. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged a little. "My son asked me to apologize on his behalf for his behavior. Also, I was told you were only lightly wounded. I could take a look while the doctor is busy with your comrades; if your wound really is only superficial it only needs cleaning and some bandages," she added, and smiled a bit. "You don't spend twenty years married to a miner without learning how to treat some wounds."

Quercus had to admit she made a fair point: his wound didn't need a doctor, only some cleaning and bandages, and she would do. There would be no point in wasting his time sitting there and waiting for the sawbones to be done with the others. "Very well," he finally said, putting down the towel he had been pressing against the wound, and he glanced away as she grabbed his arm gently to take a closer look. "I cleaned off some of the blood myself. It's almost stopped bleeding in any case. There's isn't much left for you to do."

She nodded. "It really is superficial," she said softly, reaching to take some alcohol. "It will take only a few minutes. This may burn," she added.

He snorted. "I know how alcohol works," was all he said. "Just go ahead."

She didn't seem to be bothered by his rough retort. "You're not the talkative type, are you?" she asked, soaking a clean cloth with alcohol before pressing it on the wound.

Quercus clenched his teeth just a little at the burning feeling before replying. "I can't think of any reason why I should talk. Nor I can think of a subject you might be interested in. All I know is war."

"Were you born in the middle of a battlefield, young old man?" she asked with a chuckle, still focused on cleaning the wound. "There must have been something before."

He snorted. "Nothing much," he said briefly, hoping that the annoyance he clearly let show in his voice would end the conversation. No such luck.

"In this case, do tell me about war," she suggested, "I know nothing of it. Or almost nothing. I only know it through the tales of the men of the village; my life was far from eventful," a small chuckle escaped her. "I was born here and never left the village. I married a miner when I was seventeen and was expecting already, and I had my second child when I was younger than you are now. I'm satisfied with what I have, but I am always interested in hearing tales from people who saw far more of the world than I ever could."

Quercus opened his mouth to say something about the greatness of fighting for his country – the kind of things his superiors wanted to hear, and thus all he had said for years on the matter – but he paused as he realized that this wasn't a superior or an underling he was speaking to: he was speaking to a civilian, for the first time in… when had been the last time he had truly spoken more than a few words with a civilian? He couldn't even remember. And that meant he wasn't going to have to watch his tongue, or not as much as he usually did.

Not to mention that she had already seen through him; she would know he wasn't being sincere, that it certainly wasn't for the country he fought. It was almost a relief; he was tired and hurt, and last thing he wanted to find himself spewing out were the usual lies.

"If it's tale of heroics you're expecting, I'll have to disappoint you," he found himself saying bitterly after a moment of silence. "All the greatness that comes with war is for the high ranks. To the rest of us it's-" he trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind. I'm a soldier, and as a soldier I have to fight. We're surrounded by enemies on all sides, so someone has to. That's all that there is to it," he finished, still looking away.

He could almost feel her gaze on him as she began wrapping clean bandages around his wounded arm. "But it's not all that there is to _you_," she said quietly.

Quercus scowled. "What _is_ it you want from me?" he snapped, finally turning to face her, but there was something akin to confusion – an emotion he had forgotten he could even feel in the past five years – mixing with the annoyance. It had been years since last time anyone had wanted to know about _him_. Any conversation centered on him he had had since his first battle would be about his battles, his achievements, his opinion on this or that strategy – never about himself. Not that some people, usually other comrades, hadn't tried to get to know him, but he had simply discouraged every attempt and they had given up almost right away. He couldn't recall anyone else being this insistent and this _direct_ about it.

"I don't want anything from you, young old man," she replied calmly, still bandaging his arm. "I'm merely curious. As I said, I don't often get to meet people from outside this village."

"Then there's plenty of other soldiers in here that could amuse you with their tales," he said coldly. "Just in case you haven't noticed, I'm not the only one."

"Oh, we got our fair share of tales out of them, I assure you. They were far more eager to talk than you are, though I suspect it was mostly to amuse the young women," she gave a soft laugh. "You, on the other hand, share nothing with us. You keep to yourself."

Quercus snorted. "And hasn't it crossed your mind that maybe it's because I _want_ to be left alone?"

She seemed unfazed. "My apologies," was all she said. "I suppose I'll simply put my curiosity to rest, at least as far as you're concerned. I suppose I can wait for my husband and our first son to get back for some tales."

That made him frown a little. "I take it they were recruited along with the other men in the village."

"Yes. All men still able to fight were recruited as soon as the war started; the Babahlese region is very exposed in this war. But I don't think my husband will be sent to the front lines," she added with a chuckle. "He's not a young man anymore. As for my son, he's just eighteen and was never recruited before. With some luck, the war will be over before he's even done receiving training."

"Haven't you had news of either?" Quercus asked, wondering what it had to be like: he had nobody left whose safety he could worry over, not anymore. For a moment his mind wandered back to when he had been worried his family might be involved in some war action while he was studying in Allebahst, but it had never felt like a real risk. Not until it _happened_.

"Not recently, no. Still, no news is better than bad news," she shrugged before she finished bandaging his arm. "I want to think they're both doing well, and that they're never going to see the front lines. Here," she added, letting go of his arm. "Don't strain it too much."

Quercus gave a low hum and pulled back his arm. He took a look at the bandage. "Will it hold?" he asked.

The woman nodded. "Yes, but you should probably have it changed every day."

"I'll keep it in mind," he muttered before getting up from the bench and starting to put his shirt and jacket back up. There were a few moment of silence as he buttoned up his uniform. By the time he was done and raised his gaze, she was standing as well. "I should thank you, I suppose."

"That would be polite," she replied, looking more amused than anything else, and despite himself Quercus felt his lips curling in a small smirk for a moment.

"Very well, then, I'll give you no reason to think army men can't be polite. Thank you."

"You're welcome, young old man," she said, giving him a small nod before she turned to start collecting the bloodied cloths and the bandages and alcohol that were left. Quercus found himself hesitating for a moment as he stood in front of the door to leave. He turned back.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours. And that's hardly fair. Who should I ask for when I need my bandages to be changed?" he asked, ignoring the fact any other soldier could change his bandages just fine.

She smiled at him, once again in that odd motherly way. "Just ask for Issoria. I'm glad to see my questions didn't annoy you too much, young old man."

He gave her a small nod and opened the door to step outside. Truth be told they _did_ annoy him, but at the same time it had felt good getting to talk to someone he didn't have to watch his words with; he certainly couldn't have said anything that he had said about war and the army to another soldier; the risk would have been too great. This woman, however, was highly unlikely to ever repeat his words to anyone that mattered – and even if she did, he doubted she would be taken notice of. Why would they believe a common woman from some backwater little village in the outskirts of the Babahlese region?

Quercus shook his head as if to get rid of such thoughts and headed for the barn, pushing aside his own questions on why should he feel the need to talk freely to anyone and the fact that there was something about her, about her quietness and scent of freshly baked bread and soap, that made him feel some kind of odd longing and nostalgia he couldn't quite define. It had to be only his imagination, or maybe his wound had made him more uselessly sensitive – he was fine as he was, after all.

He was _fine_.


	4. Those Who Are Left

The old barn was at the far end of the village, but it only took him a few minutes to get there – the village was that small. When he pushed the door open to walk in, Quercus was pleased for two reasons. First off, it was pleasantly warm in there – second, the radio operator they had captured was in there just as he had instructed. He was tied to a chair in front of an old table, and what rested on it was, of course, his radio. Beside him there was an armed soldier keeping him at gunpoint, just in case.

"You're dismissed, sergeant," Quercus said, sitting on the only other chair in there, just across from the one the prisoner was tied to.

"Sir…?"

Quercus waved his hand. "I doubt our friend here is in the position to try anything rash – it was Lieutenant Stylomecon to tie him up, was it not? He's quite good with knots, if my memory serves me right. He won't be getting up from that chair unless I decide so," he added casually, taking out his army knife and placing it on the table next to the radio. The prisoner was clearly trying his hardest to look unimpressed, but there was no mistaking the hint of fear in his eyes. Quercus allowed himself a smirk before he turned to look at the sergeant. "I said you're _dismissed_. Go outside and wait for me to call you back in."

The man blinked. "Oh, right. Er, I mean… yessir!"

Quercus chuckled as he left the barn. "They're not usually this dense," he said colloquially, leaning back on his chair. "But they did have an eventful day, so I supposed it was bound to have its drawbacks. In any case, I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Captain Quercus Alba, officer of the Cohdopian army. And you are…?"

The other man stared at him coldly. He was rather young, probably barely older than Quercus himself, with dark hair and eyes as black as night. "I am Sergeant Major Hus Eful, of the army of Reijam," he said, straightening as much as the bounds let him. "And I will not betray my country."

"Betray?" Quercus repeated calmly.

"I know what you want me to do."

Quercus raised an eyebrow. "Do you now?"

"Yes. Whatever message you want me to pass to my own army will never reach them. I refuse to do it. Torture will not make me change my mind."

"Torture, you say?" Quercus repeated, reaching to idly toy with his army knife. "Do I look like someone who would resort to such unpleasant methods?"

The man's stare grew even colder. "I wouldn't be surprised. You're the kind of person who chooses ambush over a battle."

"And you are the kind of man who attacks an unguarded village filled with civilians," was Quercus' reply. "You could say we're even."

"We wouldn't have shed their blood!"

Quercus laughed, leaning back again. "You're either very naïve, Sergeant Major, or a liar. You would have. The villagers would have tried to fight back with all they had, and you would have retaliated."

"They wouldn't have," was the cold reply. "All able men are serving in your army. There are only infirm, elderly, children and women left."

"Women with their homes, parents and children to protect. If you truly believe they would not have fought you, then you're an idiot who knows nothing of Cohdopia and its people," Quercus stated calmly. "If not openly, then they would have fought you through sabotage. They would have tried and failed, and you would have opened fire on them. Women, children and elderly alike. Their blood would be on your hands now hadn't we stopped you. Don't lie to me or yourself."

The man clenched his jaw. "Regardless, you're also someone who chooses murder over treating an enemy with dignity. I doubt you'd be above torture either."

Quercus frowned for the first time. "If it's your captain you're referring to, I'm not in the habit of letting anyone insult me or my men," he said coldly. "And as I told your captain as well, I have no sympathy for those who drag civilians into matters that are to be dealt with between soldiers on a battlefield."

"You killed him like a dog!"

"A fitting death for someone who attacks civilians," Quercus replied, his grip on the handle of the knife tightening.

"He had no chance to defend himself!" the prisoner growled.

"Neither did my family," Quercus replied, the words slipping from his mouth without him truly realizing it.

Sergeant Major Hus Eful seemed taken aback as well, for he stopped speaking and gaped. "Your…?"

"I'll tell you one thing, Sergeant Major," Quercus said quietly. "Whenever civilians are involved in a war action there is no glory in it. There is only blood and death for those who leave, and the deepest despair for those who are left," he added,and leaned forward, his eyes fixed in the prisoner's. "Let me tell you, it truly is a life-changing experience. Some people are grateful for being alive and learn to appreciate life better. Some can't stand it and take their own lives. Some others will live a guilt-ridden life for having survived when others died. And then there are those like me: people who lost everything and that demand a repayment, whatever the cost. And no man of war can complain about them, because war itself is what created them."

A long silence followed, the prisoner being apparently unable to speak – he couldn't only stare back into Quercus' eyes, speechless. Finally Quercus pulled back and leant back on the chair, breaking eye contact. "Now that I've given you something to think through," he said, his voice pleasant once again. "I'd very much like to return to the subject at hand. Namely, the message you're going to send to the rest of your battalion."

"I…" the other man recoiled as though he had just been snapped from deep thoughts and shook his head. "No, I will not. I won't betray my country. I'll welcome whatever fate you have in store for me."

Quercus smiled. "In that case, I hope you are ready to face the fate of those who are left."

"Wha…?"

"Sergeant!" Quercus called out, turning to the door. A moment later the door opened and the sergeant stepped in the bar.

"Yes, Captain Alba, sir?"

"We have no more use for the prisoners. Dispose of them."

"Wha- NO!" The prisoner tried desperately to break free from his bonds, even though he already knew he had no chance to. "They have nothing to do with this!"

"Nor did civilians," was the cold reply.

"They are prisoners of war! They have _rights_! You cannot do this!"

"I already did the same to your captain. You know what I am capable of," Quercus said, staring at the man straight in the eyes, and he could see horror overriding fury when he realized that yes, he _would_ go through with his threat. "You would have attacked a village filled with civilians. You have _no right_ to life."

"I am the one who's refusing to cooperate! I am to be punished!"

Quercus sneered. "But you will be," he said. "Can't you see it now? This is exactly what I was talking about – the fate of those who are left. Every minute of your life you'll be asking yourself or whatever entity you believe might care why wasn't it _you_ to be taken. But in your case if will be even worse, because your stubbornness will have been the cause of your comrades' death. _You_ are the one who killed them today. And you know what's the best part? That you'll realize that in the long run you will be the only one left to care about their fate or to even remember them. Sergeant!" he barked, turning to the dumb folded sergeant again. "Bring them all to the central square and-"

"NO! Please, I'll- I'll do it! I will!"

The sergeant winced a little at the desperate cry and turned to Quercus. "Sir…?"

A sly smirk was curling Quercus' lips now. "Don't go just yet," he told him before turning back to the radio operator, who was now horribly pale, his feature twisted in anguish. "You will?"

The other man drew in a deep, shaky breath. "Will you spare my comrades if I do?"

"Yes. You have my word."

A moment's silence. "I'll be a traitor to my own country," he whispered, eyes tightly shut.

"Your country? If you think your _country_ gives a damn about your life, think again. You were sent here to fight or die for it after all; so tell me, who do you think would be willing to give all they have for you – your comrades, or your _country_?" Quercus asked. "Answer to that. You'll know who truly deserves your loyalty."

A long, heavy silence followed. "I'll send the message," the man finally murmured, his gaze lowered. "But you have to promise-"

"I already gave you my word," Quercus cut him off, "and I'll keep it. No harm will come to you or your comrades. Sergeant, step closer," he added, gesturing for the soldier to step forward before he reached to take the army knife and began cutting off some of the ropes, freeing the prisoner's arm so that he could use the radio. "I have to warn you – the sergeant here is fluent in your language. Should you try to pass any message that isn't exactly what I'm about to tell you, if you try to use some code to warn them, he'll know it. And your comrades will suffer the consequences. Is that perfectly clear?"

Sergeant Major Hus Eful sighed. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice blank. "What message am I suppose to pass?"

Quercus sat back on his chair. "Tell them that you took control of the village; explain the fact it took you longer than expected because some civilians attempted an armed resistance. Tell them that you have control of the railways and that you've already stopped a train that was supposed to bring supplies and weapons to a Cohdopian battalion that is currently at stance in Bocconia as it waits for winter to pass," he added, naming a city that was further to the west and that happened to be in a quite strategic position. He couldn't be certain that the enemy would march upon that city with the intention of catching the Cohdopian battalion unprepared and almost unarmed, but he was fairly confident that was what they'd do – it was what he'd do in their shoes after all.

And the only way to get there from that area was getting through narrow passages among mountains; once the Cohdopian army knew they were coming, getting an ambush ready would be a child's play and whole enemy battalions would be wiped from existence. "Also, tell them that you couldn't get your hands on the weapons on the train. Tell them that a villager set all the supplies on fire to keep them from falling in your hands," Quercus added. Last thing he needed was having the enemy stopping there to take non-existing supplies before heading off to Bocconia.

The prisoner nodded and then reached to operate the radio, his gaze still lowered, and a deeply anguished expression on his face. Minutes later he was communicating with the radio operator that had stayed with the rest of the battalion in a language Quercus could not understand; still, the sergeant was nodding as he spoke, so he guessed their unwilling accomplice wasn't trying to pass any message that they didn't want to pass. The voice on the other side changed at some point – Quercus could tell for the sheer authority of it that it had to be a superior, maybe even the one leading the troops – and he realized he was soon going to find out what the enemy's next move was.

The moment the radio operator shut down the radio and leant back with an empty look in his eyes, Quercus turned to the sergeant. "What is it they said?"

"The prisoner passed the message exactly as you asked, sir," was the reply. "He received instructions to stay in this village to block any other train might try to pass with supplies, so that the Cohdopian troops in Bocconia keep getting no more weapons or supplies. The battalions will head off to Bocconia immediately, so that they can catch our troops unprepared and unarmed."

Quercus couldn't hold back a smile. That was perfect, simply perfect. "Everything's going according to the plan, then. Get me in contact with the High Command," he added – there was no point in going through Colonel Consolida first so that he'd take the merit, after all. "I have a few things to let them know. Thank you for your help, Sergeant Major," he sneered at the now silent man. "We couldn't have done this without your assistance. Call someone to lock him back up with his comrades, Sergeant."

"Yessir!"

Quercus was still smirking as he left the barn, the wound on his arm forgotten.

* * *

><p>It truly looked like not even being stuck in some backwater village in the middle of nowhere could keep him from climbing ranks, Quercus thought with a smirk as he glanced down again at the letter he had just received. And it had been a quick one, too – only days after giving the High Command the information needed to utterly destroy whole enemy battalions and explaining how he had obtained such information, he was already promoted. Major Quercus Alba. It had a nice ring to it.<p>

"You seem in a good mood, young old man. I take it that letter carries good news."

Quercus raised his gaze to look at Issoria; she was changing the bandages on his arm, which had mostly healed by now, but she had been so silent the whole time and her touch was so light that he had almost forgotten her presence. "Yes," he said. "Very good news."

"News from home?"

He suddenly stiffened, his smirk disappearing. "We've been through this," he said, his voice as cold as the first time he had met her. "I don't appreciate having anyone prying in my business."

"My apologies, young old man," she said softly, turning her attention back to his arm. "I didn't mean to upset you, and I was not trying to pry either. I simply wondered what news could make someone as serious as yourself smile. For a moment you almost acted your age," she added with a small chuckle.

Quercus simply shrugged. "I was promoted. I'm a major now," he said, but some of the satisfaction was suddenly dulled. For a moment the memory of his house's ruins and his sister's corpse and the burned oak almost made it back to his mind, but he almost managed to chase it away – almost. It lingered there, like an opponent waiting for him to let his guard down.

"Oh, I see. Congratulations, young old man," Issoria said, but Quercus wasn't listening, because as she leant closer to wrap the bandage more tightly around his arm he caught her scent once more and he suddenly realized why it had felt so familiar, so soothing and alien at the same time: it was the scent of soap and clean sheets and freshly-baked bread that had once lingered in his home.

_Home_.

Quercus had been prepared to block out the thought of his house's remains, but what he hadn't been ready for were the memories of _before_ flooding his mind – when his family was alive and Laurie would show up covered in flour because she was trying to learn how to bake. But she was a true disaster at it and their parents always had to clean up whatever mess she had done in the kitchen, and then there would be the scent of baking bread filling the house and making it hard to concentrate on whatever he was doing. Laurie would insist for him to try out her bread and tell her how it tasted; it tasted dreadful most of the time, either too raw or overcooked, but he would claim it was delicious and her smile would be so wide and happy, and… and…

"Young old man?"

The woman's voice reached his ears as though from miles away, and it was only then that Quercus realized he had let the letter of his promotion fall on the ground and was now shaking, face burrowed in his hands and broken sounds coming from his throat without him being able to stop them, the sudden wave of grief too great and unexpected to control.

She said something else, something he didn't even hear, and leaned closer; he caught that scent again, scent of _home_, he found himself grasping the front of her blouse, unable to speak, unable to _think_. Next thing he knew she was holding him back and a hand was rubbing his upper back, and he shut his eyes and just let himself lean on her, his hands still gripping the fabric of her blouse. Neither of them said a word. His trembling slowly subsided and the broken sounds leaving his throat turned into shaky breaths as he tried to calm himself, to get his own mind under control.

After several minutes he pulled back, and she let go of him immediately; she didn't say anything as he sat upright again and drew in a deep breath. He knew he should probably say something, anything, but his mind was blank. All he knew was that he had just made a fool out of himself for nothing, something that should have angered him – but he only felt dreadfully empty. He was about to make himself get up and just leave, but then he felt her grip on his arm again. He turned to see she was getting back to bandaging his arm without saying a word, all her attention focused on her task, and he was suddenly grateful for her silence.

A silence that he eventually broke, much to his own surprise. "My family is gone, and so is my hometown. The only communications I could possibly get are those from the army," he finally said quietly, hating it how apologetic his voice sounded now.

"I see," Issoria said softly, not taking her eyes off his arm. "I'm sorry for your loss. Did it happen recently?"

"No. It was six years ago, during the last war with Borginia. The attack to my hometown was what set off the war, and they were killed in it. I dropped my studies and joined the army right after that."

"So you were only nineteen," she said, looking up at him. Quercus didn't notice the hint of pity in her eyes, focused as he was on the wall in front of him. "So young!"

Quercus clenched his jaw. "What else did I have to turn to?" he asked, more to himself than to her. And the answer was still the same as the first time – nothing. He had nothing else. "I have no regrets," he finally said somewhat defensively. "I'm fine."

"Are you, young old man?" she asked somewhat sadly as she finished bandaging his arm. "You devoted your life to the very same thing that took your youth away. You're letting it take more of you with each breath you take. Why? What is _your_ war about?"

Quercus found himself staring at her. He knew he was supposed to be angered for her prying – or was he? He had been the one who had started talking to begin with – or to just get up and leave before he could let anything even more personal slip off his tongue, but he did neither: he just pulled back his arm and began putting his shirt back on. "My war," he repeated. "That's… a fitting definition."

Yes, he thought, it truly was fitting, because in the end all he had done in the army was about himself; never about his country or his comrades, or even about having justice – not after the bitter realization, right on his first battle, that no such thing as justice there could ever be for him or his family and that all he could hope for was revenge if he could become powerful and influent enough.

"Tell me one thing," Quercus went on, not raising his gaze from the shirt he was buttoning up. "If my plan had failed and all of my men had died in the attempt of defending this village, who would have cared? Oh, of course, our actions may have changed the course of the war, but that's all that there is to it. The lives of the soldiers are nothing in the scheme of things – winning the war is all that matters. I have seen whole battalions exterminated in hopeless battles to that end. And don't even get me started on how little the lives of civilians are worth. Expendable, all of them – civilians and simple soldiers alike. I'm expendable as well. But I fight so that someday I will no longer be," he paused, a thoughtful frown on his face, and finally turned to look at her. "I suppose that answers to the question you asked me when we met. I fight for myself. Because if I don't, no one will do it on my behalf."

He wasn't sure what reply he should expect from her, and for a while she said nothing – she just kept staring at him with some sadness in her gaze. "It is a lonely path you have chosen, young old man."

"I hardly had much of a choice."

"You had a choice later. You could have chosen to leave the army. You still can."

"And be left with nothing once again? No. The army is my only chance to be one of those who matter. The player instead of the chess piece. But I'm wasting my breath – you wouldn't understand."

Issoria nodded. "You're right, I do not. And I'm grateful for that. I'm happy with that I have."

"Pah!" Quercus snorted. "You remind me of my father. He was happy with what he had, too, because he knew nothing better. Being a merchant whose business could be damaged any moment by some war or rebellion was enough for him. And where did it get him? There was so little left of him that it fit into-" he trailed off as he realized that there was an emotion in his voice that shouldn't have been there – no sadness, no longing, no nostalgia, no pain… but anger against his own father. He shook his head and drew in a deep breath. "And now, now there is nobody left to remember them but me. They were good people. They didn't deserve to die. But they did, and only I am left to remember them. Once I'm gone there will not be a single soul who'll miss them, or even know they existed."

"And do you think that acquiring power and prestige for yourself would make you feel better?" she asked.

"It might."

A silence followed. "Then I wish you success, young old man," Issoria finally said softly "and happiness."

Happiness. Quercus smiled bitterly. "I'm afraid at least one of them is far beyond my reach. As for the other… I'll have it, come what may."

A brief silence followed as he finished buttoning up his uniform as well. "I have to ask you not to breathe a word of what I told you to anyone," he added. He wondered if he should also throw in a threat or two to convincer her keeping her mouth shut would be for the best for her and her children, but he didn't: if she really could read him as well as it seemed, she was clearly aware of what he could do if provoked.

She nodded. "I will not, young old man. You don't even need to ask. But that was more of an order, was it not?" she gave him an odd smile. "One I couldn't possibly defy without consequences."

Quercus hesitated for a moment before clenching his jaw. "I'm glad to see you know where you stand," was all he said before turning and opening the door to walk outside in the cold evening air.

* * *

><p><em>"Quercus."<em>

_Quercus scowled, shutting his eyes tighter. For a moment it occurred to him he should punish whoever was using his name rather than his grade and surname, but he was too tired to even speak, so he settled for ignoring it. He would keep sleeping and whoever was calling him would get tired and-_

_"Quercus!"_

_"Ow!" Quercus gasped as something suddenly was dropped on his stomach, startling him out of his sleep. His eyes snapped open and he opened his mouth to yell at whoever had dared to wake him up like that, but his words died in his throat as he found himself facing a freckled little girl with big dark eyes and golden hair, grinning down at him._

_"Got you! Now you're awake! Stop ignoring me!"_

_"Laurie?" Quercus breathed, stunned, and he suddenly realized that he wasn't resting on the bed in old house the villagers had let him take – they were back in Dianthus, on the grass in the shade of the oak tree, and it wasn't night anymore. Quercus shot a glance to his left to see his house standing. "What…?"_

_"Hey, I told you to stop ignoring me!" Laurie protested, and Quercus turned back to look up at her as she sat on his stomach."You have to work on the tree house!"_

_Quercus stared at her blankly. "The… tree house?" he repeated, his mind blank. What was happening? What had happened? Laurie was gone, and so was their house; how could she be there? How could his house still be standing? What was going on?_

_Laurie scowled at his reply._ _"So you forgot! You make a horrible big brother!" she said accusingly, folding her arms and shifting her weight, and Quercus wondered of she had just put more weight on his stomach on purpose. "You promised! You promised you'd build me-"_

_"The best tree house Cohdopia has ever seen," Quercus found himself saying numbly. _

_His sister's frown melted in a wide smile. "Yes! So you remember! Will you… why are you laughing?" she asked in confusion. _

_Quercus didn't reply right away – he just kept laughing, head resting back on the grass. So… so had it all been a dream, a nightmare he had had while snoozing in the shade of the old tree? But of course it had been, it had to be! Because his house was standing and Laurie was there and God, he was going to get up right away and build her the best tree house Cohdopia had ever-_

_"Hey, don't ignore me! Tell me why you're laughing!"_

_Quercus finally managed to stop laughing in relief long enough to answer, his eyes still shut and the rustling sound of leaves still in his ears. "It's nothing, Laurie. You just woke me up from the worst nightmare I ever had. I'll build you a tree house right away, or two, as many you want. I swear. If you want more I'll build you more as soon as I get back from-"_

_"You will not. You never made it back in time," her voice cut him off, and this time it wasn't cheerful or annoyed – it now was hollow, and cold, and he felt something clenching in his chest as he realized daylight was no more, that he could no longer hear the leaves rustling – and she felt suddenly cold even though their clothes, she was so cold…!_

_Quercus opened his eyes, and he felt his blood turning into ice in his veins as he saw that Laurie's little freckled face was no more; there was only a bloodied hole staring down at him – there were no eyes, there was nothing but blood and shapeless flesh and bone, but he was sure she could still see him – and blood was staining the front of her white dress._

_"When you came back the oak was broken like everything else and we couldn't build anything anymore," her voice reached his ears again, and more blood fell from the hole that had once been his little sister's face onto his chest; even that felt cold as ice. And everything around them was dark, so dark, like… like…_

_… Like the day the sun went out._

* * *

><p>Had he been able to think clearly, Quercus would have been grateful of the fact his men were currently at the only tavern of the village to drink and celebrate the victory their army had just obtained in Bocconia – it meant no one was there to hear the cry of horror and revulsion and dismay he let out as he awoke with a start.<p>

His own scream was one of the very few clear memories he'd have of that night. He would then vaguely remember dressing himself in the dark, with his hands shaking and something that sounded horribly like broken sobs leaving his throat, before walking out in the night without even bothering to close the door behind himself. He wouldn't be able to recall how long he had wandered in the biting cold without even his cloak on – next thing he knew he was knocking at a door, unable to even think over what he was doing, shaking so violently that he could barely stand, his mind a turmoil.

The door opened the very same moment he leant on it, and the next instant he found himself on the ground, eyes shut, unaware even of the pain in his knees for the impact with the ground. He tried to speak, to say something – anything – but he couldn't think of anything he could say, he couldn't think at all, he didn't _want_ to think.

He would later be grateful of the fact at least she could still think. Moments later something warm was laid on his shoulders – a blanket? – and she was helping him up. Quercus just let her guide him to the couch and make him sit on it; she sat next to him and said something, perhaps asked him what was going on, but he gave no reply: he just reached out for her and clung to her, eyes tightly shut, his breath coming in gasps that still sounded horribly close to sobs.

That was when she stopped asking and simply reached to hold him back, the way she had done only hours earlier. And it was just as soothing as before, because she was soft and warm and she smelled of soap and freshly-baked bread – she smelled like his home had. She smelled good. "Please," he choked out, not even knowing what he was pleading for, and he found himself unable to say anything more.

"It is alright, young old man. It is alright. Just rest," he heard her murmuring, and her hand was stroking his back once again and he could hear her heartbeat and yes, it was alright, it really was. It had to be, he thought incoherently, and that was the last thing he managed to think at all: minutes later his eyes closed again and his breathing evened, and he drifted into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>Back in what Quercus was now used to consider a previous life – at least the few times he allowed himself to think about it at all – it wouldn't be unusual for him to keep sleeping until late morning or even noon whenever he had no reason to get up. It was a running joke that every Sunday he'd be the last one to get up; his mother claimed, not without a reason, that lunch was all that kept him from sleeping until late afternoon.<p>

But the army had changed that, too: he would always be awake at the crack of down, no matter what time he had gone to sleep, whether or not he had anything to do that early in the morning. At that one morning was no exception: the cold, grey light of dawn had just started creeping through the window when Quercus opened his eyes.

It took him a few moments to regain bearing of his surroundings, at least enough to tell he was resting on a couch, still fully clothed, and that a woollen blanket had been laid on him. But how had he come to be there? Last thing he remembered was going to sleep in a completely different place and then-

His train of thoughts abruptly came to a stop as he remember what had happened _after_ that – his nightmare and then… then he had run to that place. He couldn't remember the details clearly, nor he could for his life imagine what he had been _thinking_, but he had come there and… oh, damn it, he thought, sitting up with a groan. The details were still confused, but he remembered enough to know he must have been a wreck and had probably made a fool out of himself. What in the world had gotten into him? How could he let himself lose his mind like that, behave like some weakling who couldn't keep himself in check?

He gritted his teeth, throwing the blanket off himself and on the ground in anger, furious at both himself for being so weak and at… whatever had caused that ridiculous breakdown. He hadn't had nightmares in years, so why now? _Why_?

"I see you're awake."

Quercus looked up to see Issoria standing at the door with something in his hand – a large mug with something steaming in it. "I can't see what's good about this morning," he said sharply, looking away with a scowl on his face – he had made such a fool out of himself that he was certain she was silently mocking him. And it wasn't even the first time: just the previous evening he had had a similar breakdown in her presence, he remembered, and his resentment against her flared up once again – she had to be the reason of his sudden weakness somehow! He didn't know how, but she had been the reason why it had happened, he though. At least that first time. But then why had he turned to her the previous now, of all people?

_Well, this one is easy: you have nobody else to turn to._

That was undeniably true: he had let nobody close to him in years, and now some woman he talked to from time to time while she changed the bandages on a wound on his arm was the one he had let come closer to him… and the only person he had spoken of his family to, he realized.

She didn't seem bothered by his rudeness. "You're back to your usual self, just to say one," she said calmly before handing the mug to him. "Here. I know it isn't much, but I thought you'd like to drink something hot. I knew you'd awake soon. You army men must be used at getting up at dawn," she said, a small smile on her face, and Quercus noticed the dark shadows under her eyes – had she slept at all?

Then the realization hit him: he had fallen asleep while clinging to her, or so he seemed to recall, and she had been sitting, so perhaps… perhaps she hadn't moved once he fell asleep, so that he wouldn't wake up? It was highly probable she had done so, at least until he was deep enough in his sleep not to awake again. The mere thought made him feel terribly awkward, and he was quick to turn his attention from her to the mug. He reached to take it without saying a word and looked inside. Hot milk – not something he was too fond on, but he found himself taking a few sips anyway. He hadn't realized before how cold he felt.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked softly.

Quercus stiffened a little, but he forced himself to relax – he knew that question was coming anyway, and he supposed he owed at least some explanation after showing up in her home as he had, no matter how much he loathed the idea of addressing the subject.

"I'm fine," he said dryly before drinking some more milk, more to have some time to think of anything else he could say than because he felt like having any. "I don't know what I was thinking," he finally added once the mug was empty and he had no more excuses not to speak. "My apologies for waking you up."

"You don't need to apologize, young old man," Issoria said, reaching to take back the empty mug. "But I would appreciate it if you picked up the blanket."

"The…?" Quercus began, then he looked down to see the blanket he had had on him when he had woken up and that he had thrown to the ground. "Oh. Yes, of course," he said, picking it up and handing it to her without looking at her at all, wondering if she had seen him throwing it on the ground in anger.

If she had, she didn't seem up to mention it. "Thank you," was all she said before putting the mug on a table nearby and folding the blanket neatly.

He just nodded, folding his hands tightly together. He stayed silent for another few moments, then, "Where is your son?" he asked, more to say anything that was completely unrelated to him than for actual curiosity.

"He sleeps at a friend's place most of the nights," she said "his house is closer to the building most of your men are into, and I figured out it would be safer for him to stay there as much as he could. Just in case. Besides, he doesn't mind. He's as eager to know more about the soldiers as any boy who lived all his life in a small village," she chuckled. "Your arrival is by far one of the biggest news in quite a while."

"I see," Quercus said, mildly grateful for the fact that brat hadn't seen him in the state he had been the previous night. He finally cleared his throat and got up from the couch. "I think it is about time I leave you alone," he said. "Once again, I have to remind you that it would be for the best that you kept quiet abou-"

"And I have to remind you," she cut him off, a hint of amusement and no fear at all showing in her voice, "that there is no need to try scaring me into silence. I told you that I won't breathe a word. Why should I?"

Quercus stared at her, and for a moment he felt almost as though he had been chastised, but he recovered quickly and turned his gaze away from her. What a ridiculous idea – a major of the Cohdopian army, chastised by a civilian! "I see. That's… good to know," he finally muttered before walking to the door, yanking it open and walking out hastily in what was nothing short of a retreat.


	5. Never Enough

_A/N: here's the fifth chapter - not exactly an action-packed one, but the next one will make up for it, I promise. _XD  
><em>Speaking of the next chapter, I'll probably post it on January 14th. I still have about five chapters written out, but I want to write a few more before I post all those I already have, so from now on the fic will be updated every two weeks.<em>

_That said, happy New Year! (Yes, I know I'm early, but whatever. Still close enough, right? Right?)_

* * *

><p>While Quercus had feared the contrary, there were no other nightmares. But on the other hand there was a sense of uneasiness that wouldn't let go of him, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He eventually blamed it on inactivity – now that nothing was happening in that cursed village he had nothing worthwhile to do to distract himself, and that had to be the cause to his uneasiness and growing restlessness.<p>

Taking long walks alone – accurately avoiding the vicinity of Issoria's house – no longer seemed to be enough to help him soothing his nerves. Barely a few days later he found himself wishing more than anything that something, _anything_ would happen to get him out of that hole of a place. An unexpressed request that was fulfilled almost immediately, since not even a week after the breakdown he found himself staring at a telegram from the Colonel Consolida – now that northern part of the Babahlese region was safe again he and his men had been called to the front lines on the south-eastern border.

Their place would apparently be taken from troops mostly made of men who were from that same area and who were either too old or too inexperienced for the front lines; Quercus and his men were to take the first train for Dryadula and meet with the rest of the troops – which meant, he realized as he took a look at the schedules, that they were to leave right on the next afternoon.

The thought filled him with anticipation, and his men seemed to be both sorry for having to leave the safety and peacefulness of the village and excitedd for getting some more action. The result, of course, was that they tried their best to convince him to let them celebrate that last evening in the village – most of them had made friends with the villagers, after all. Quercus gave the permission almost right away: he didn't feel like arguing with anyone at all, too focused on what was going to come after they left that place – yet another occasion for him to prove himself.

But before leaving, there was something he wanted to do, no matter how much unease the idea of even approaching Issoria again he felt. He wasn't sure if it was because he felt like he owed her something, but he wanted to at least drop by before he left to let her know that her husband and older son were most likely on their way home already – at least for them, the war seemed to be over.

Still, as he stood in front of her house, he was so tempted to turn and leave that he almost did so – but he froze as the front door opened and someone stepped out – her younger son, the boy who had insulted him when he had thought Quercus and his men were leaving the village unguarded. The boy froze as well as he saw him, suddenly looked rather surprised and embarrassed.

"Uh… hello, Captain," he said nervously, looking down; it looked like he had the good grace to still be ashamed of the insult he had thrown at him, at least.

"It's Major now," Quercus said, not about to assuage his uneasiness. Served him right for insulting him in front of his men. "Is your mother home?"

The boy blinked. "Yes, she is. Did… anything happen?" he asked, this time looking a little worried, and Quercus wondered if he feared he was there to give bad news of any kind. With his father and brother recruited in the middle of a war he had to fear for their safety, of course.

"Not yet, but it might," he finally said. "It is not yet common knowledge since I'm supposed to keep this kind of information for myself, but… now that the situation has turned in our favor in this area, from now on this village is to be watched by people who live in the area, and who are either too old or too inexperienced for the front lines. It is my opinion that this will probably result with your father and brother coming back soon."

The boy's uneasiness faded into a look of pure incredulity. "Really?"

"Do you think I have nothing better to do than making up fairy tales for children?" Quercus asked irritably, but the boy didn't seem to even take notice of that – he turned inside and called out for him mother.

"Mother! The Major said father and Sapho are coming back!"

"I said _probably_," Quercus tried to remind him, but he gave up on it and let the boy fill in his mother as she stepped in the doorway as well. She stayed silent as her son spoke, then she smiled and turned to Quercus.

"Is it true?"

"There's a strong possibility. Both of them live in this area, and both are unsuited for the front lines for different reasons – all traits of those who'll be chosen to guard this village from now on. I wouldn't be surprised at all if they and several other men from this village were to be back before next week. They'd be officially still on duty, but… the war will pretty much be over for them."

She gave him a small nod, still smiling. "I see. Thank you for letting us know," she said. "I guess that was supposed to be reserved information."

"There is little point in keeping it from the villagers. And I do owe you. For taking care of my wound," he added, though he knew she had guessed exactly what he was truly thanking her for.

"You're most welcome, young old man. Would it bother you if we let someone else know of this?"

"No. As I said, there is no point in secrecy. One more reason for all of you to celebrate, I suppose," he added, and this time he couldn't keep some bitterness from seeping in his voice at the thought he would never celebrate anyone's return – nor anyone was left to wait for his, had he had a place left to return to.

"I see," she said, looking at him a little thoughtfully before turning to her son. "Perhaps your friends would like to know that as well," she told him. "Their own brothers and fathers are away after all. Let them know the good news on your way to the celebration."

"Yes!" her son said eagerly, and he seemed about to run off, but he stopped for a moment as his gaze fell on Quercus. "And, Major, I'm… sorry. For insulting you," he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "I thought you were… leaving us to fend for ourselves."

Quercus bit back a scathing comment on how he had been tempted to do just that for a moment and simply shrugged. "It's fine. Think no more of it."

The boy nodded. "I… alright. Thanks again," he said before he turned and ran off to the center of the village, where the soldiers were preparing to celebrate their last night in Langei. Issoria followed him with her gaze for a few moments before turning her attention back to Quercus.

"I take it you're not going to take part of the celebrations, young old man. I can't say I'm surprised," she said. "Do you want to come in and drink something? It's cold out here."

Quercus knew he was supposed to refuse, if anything out of fear of… of… but what was he afraid of? It was only a woman, an ignorant civilian who'd soon enough reach her forties without having seen anything outside her small village; she was harmless in every way, he told himself, and there was no reason why he should fear anything at all.

"I hope you do have something different from milk," he finally heard himself saying.

Issoria chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. "Does liquor better suit your tastes?" she asked.

Quercus stepped in, trying to relax a little. "What kind of liquor?"

"Anise."

"It sounds good," he said, trying to ignore his own tenseness as and sat on her couch, and he stayed silent as she went in another room to fetch the liquor. She came back after a few minutes with the bottle and a glass and sat next to him. She filled the glass and handed it to him.

"Here. It's rather good, or so I was told."

Quercus took the glass, one eyebrow raised. "Aren't you having any?"

She shook her head, putting down the bottle on the small table in front of the couch. "The first and only time I drank anything with alcohol in it was at my older sister's wedding. I'm afraid she has never quite forgiven me for the outcome," she said, and laughed a little at the memory. For a moment she looked at least ten years younger than she had to be. "So now I avoid the risk."

Quercus made an effort to push in the back of his mind the memory of the laughs he and his older sister had gotten at their father's expenses one time he had had too much liquor, and the fact Eclipta had been engaged when she had died. Her fiancee had died as well, in the same bombing, in another part of town; they were to be married the following year. Would he or his father have made fools out of themselves at her wedding, too? Perhaps they would have. And perhaps, by now, he and Laurie would have had nieces and nephews to look after.

A dull throb somewhere in his chest warned Quercus not to pursue that line of thought any further. He just nodded, taking a swig of the drink. It was good, the flavor of anise strong and pleasant, and Quercus found himself relaxing a little at the slight burning feeling. He leant against the back of the couch, abandoning his rigid upright posture without even realizing it.

"It is good," he found himself saying.

She seemed glad to hear it. "I'm glad you like it," she said before changing subject. "So, you're leaving."

"Yes. Tomorrow in the early afternoon."

"And you're going to be on the front lines."

"I'm a soldier, and I go where I'm told to go. And that includes the front lines," Quercus said a little forcefully before he emptied the glass and placed it on the table. "I'm meant to fight wars, not to laze in a backwater village waiting for them to be over. I'm relieved I can finally fight again."

"And be involved in war actions that will get you promoted," she added softly. "Isn't that right?"

He stared at her for a moment, a little taken aback; then he was reminded she already knew, better than anyone, what it was he truly fought for. He nodded. "Of course. Though I suppose my time here was not wasted, either. I could get something useful done, and I was promoted for it. It's enough."

"No, young old man. It will never be enough for you," she replied somewhat sadly, causing his hand – which had been reaching for the bottle so that he could pour himself another drink – to freeze in mid-air. He turned to glare at her.

"Excuse me?" he said coldly.

Issoria held his gaze with no effort. "Isn't it the truth?" she asked plainly.

Quercus opened his mouth to retort, but he could find nothing to retort with, and eventually snapped his mouth shut angrily and turned his gaze to the bottle, glaring at it as though it was his worst enemy, hands balling into fists and resting on his thighs. "I lost everything," he said slowly, still not looking at her. "I demand repayment. And since nothing will ever be enough to make up for what I lost… then I want it all, at the very least," he gave a bitter laugh. "You couldn't possibly understand."

"No. And as I already said, I'm glad I don't," she said quietly, then, "I'm sorry."

Quercus shut his eyes tightly. "Don't be. I you can keep your pity. I don't need it, I don't need _anything_."

"You wouldn't be here if that were true."

Her voice was gentle as always, but there was something to it now, some kind of sternness that made whatever angered denial he could have been about to utter die in his throat. Then he felt a slight pressure on his left hand, and opened his eyes to see that her hand was resting on his, still balled in a tight fist – perhaps it had even been there for minutes, but he hadn't noticed until now. He found himself looking up to meet her gaze, not knowing what to say and not really wanting to try thinking of anything to say in the first place.

He acted out without thinking, as if in a daze. He pulled back his hand from her touch, and only a moment later he reached out for her – not to cling to her this time, but to hold her closer. She didn't resist, nor he had truly expected her to, given that he had actually expected anything – he certainly _hadn't_ expected things to get to that point, either. Then again, he had never really known what to expect with her.

He inhaled in her scent deeply before pulling back and pressing his mouth on hers lightly. She felt pliable in his arms, mouth soft and lips parting under the slightest pressure of his mouth, and his grip around her tightened as though he feared she would vanish if he didn't hold her close and tight – and he felt as though he wouldn't be able to stand it if she did, if she left him alone with that aching need that was very different from the crave for physical pleasure.

He had had his share of that with the young women, sometimes little more than girls, that would go with the soldiers in hopes to get some payment in exchange of entertainment in those harsh times – but that was different. She wasn't young or slim or beautiful, but she was soft and warm and she smelled of soap and freshly-baked bread. She smelled like his home had, or so he seemed to recall.

And if only for a while, if only for one hour, he desperately wanted to feel home again.

* * *

><p>The couch certainly wasn't the most comfortable place to rest in two, but Quercus couldn't bring himself to care – he couldn't even bring himself to <em>think<em>, really. All he could do long after his breathing had evened and his heart had slowed down was just staying still with his eyes shut, breathing in her scent and basking in the afterglow with his head resting on the crook of her neck.

It was her to move first, eventually, but she did not try to get up – she only reached up to run a hand through his hair and then down to steadily rub his upper back, saying nothing. Quercus let out a small sigh without even realizing it and finally mumbled something against her skin. "Are you alright?" he asked, ready to pull back and get off her – even though he got the impression it would take him some effort of will to do so. Leaning on her and breathing against her skin felt just so good.

She chuckled. "I am fine, young old man. I'm married to a miner, and like many miners he's anything but a lightweight; _your_ weight certainly won't crush me," she said, her hand now massaging the back of his neck.

Quercus just mumbled a 'fine' as a reply and relaxed again, not even giving heed to the thought she might regret what they had just done – he didn't think she did. As for himself… he wasn't sure. He certainly didn't regret anything out of guilt: he had nothing to feel guilty about. On the other hand, he was worried that the aching need he had felt could be a sign of weakness – and he could allow himself no weaknesses. He couldn't afford needing anything, or anyone

Quercus shut his eyes tighter, trying to chase away the thought. He was fine, and he hadn't truly needed any of it – he had _wanted_ her, yes, and she was willing, so he had taken her. It had been merely a matter of taking something he wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.

He so wished he could truly believe that.

"You're shaking," her voice reached him as though for miles away, snapping him from his thoughts and making him frown. For a moment he was almost about to tell her to quit being so infuriatingly protective, but then her hand resumed stroking his back and he just shut his eyes again.

"I'm alright," he said. "I was thinking."

"About what?"

"Home," he found himself saying without thinking, and his mind was still too dazed for him to even regret what he had said, or the longing he had let show in his voice.

"I see," she said. A brief silence followed. "You miss them, don't you?"

There was so little point in trying to deny that that the idea of doing so didn't even cross Quercus' mind. "How could I not?" he whispered, his grip around her tightening. She felt it, too, for she stopped stroking his back to hold him back with both arms as well. She said nothing, waiting for him to speak again – and he did, not even a minute later.

"Do you know what was the first thing I saw when I made it back to what was left?" he spoke again, eyes shut, his voice emotionless. "My mother's arm. That's what I saw. I thought she was trapped under the debris, and tried to get her out. But once I removed the debris I found nothing. There was only the arm. I knew it was hers because of the wedding ring. And even less was left of my father and older sister, the explosion destroyed them. I buried their remains in some boxes. Very small boxes."

Her grip around him tightened a little, but she didn't tell him she was sorry or anything of the sort, and it was a relief. "My younger sister was the only one whose body was almost completely intact," he heard himself going on. "I don't know why. But her face was… gone. I saw it when I picked her up. I saw her lying there and I was stupid enough to hope she could still be alive."

"That wasn't stupid of you," she said softly. "Hope is never stupid."

Quercus shut his eyes tightly, thinking back of how he had called out for her, of what he had thought before turning her to see she was gone – _please, don't be dead, Laurie, you'll be alright, I'm here, your big brother is here_ – and then of the numbness that had taken him over when he had found himself staring at the bloody hole beneath a mop of burned hair and had realized that she was dead, too.

"I knew she couldn't be alive. I knew it. But I still wanted to hope…" he paused. "I had made her a promise. I'll never fulfil it now. But if I had, then maybe… maybe she wouldn't have been inside the house when the bombing happened. Maybe she'd still be…" his voice died in his throat, and Quercus found himself unable to go on. He hadn't allowed himself to think about his family at all for so long, and most of all he had forbidden himself to think of the tree house he had promised his sister. Wondering whether or not she might have been there when the bombing happened if he only had accepted to build her a tree house it before leaving, whether or not might she have had a chance to live hadn't he been so lazy would simply drive him insane… and it would serve no purpose, would it?

No, Quercus thought, it wouldn't. He shut his eyes once more and kept silent for a few more minutes, desperately trying to focus on the warmth of Issoria's embrace.

"Do you wish to stay for the night, young old man?" she finally asked, breaking the silence. She had clearly decided not to try reassuring him over matters she knew nothing of, and not to ask about it in order to understand. A choice Quercus was once again grateful for.

"Isn't your son coming back?"

"Not before morning. He's staying with a friend at night, I told you."

Oh, right. Quercus nodded, not really wanting to break the embrace, fix his trousers and walk outside in the cold anytime soon. "Let me stay," he mumbled, forgetting it had been her to suggest it in the first place.

Her hand reached to stroke his hair lightly. "Of course," Quercus heard her murmuring, and he relaxed, leaning on her once more. Neither of them spoke again, and it wasn't long before nothingness claimed him and their even breathing was the only sound in the house.

When he left the next morning, little after dawn, there were scarcely any goodbyes: they both knew he'd be back eventually.

* * *

><p>The southern half of the Babahlese region had always been a rocky one, filled with mines and little else, with so little vegetation that many were puzzled by the amount of butterflies that lived there against all odds; quite a contrast to the lush vegetation in northern half and that of the Allebhastian region. Still, the south-eastern area was beyond 'rocky' – it came closer and closer to being a desert as the border approached, only a very cold one at that time of the year. The train only reached a certain point, and Quercus and his men had to walk on foot for a good number of miles. By the time they made it to the camp where they were to meet with Colonel Consolida all the men were cold and tired and looking forward to the moment they could rest on a bunk.<p>

And indeed, that was what they would get once they reported for duty – as for Quercus, he was up for a debriefing with the colonel himself, so that he could know the enemy's position and their strategy. He hoped it wouldn't last too much: he wasn't sure he could keep his weariness from showing for much longer.

"Captain Alba! Or should I say, Major?" a well known voice reached Quercus' ears. He looked up to see Colonel Consolida standing right at the entrance of the camp, the fakest smile Quercus had ever seen on him pasted on his wide face – and Quercus was pretty sure he knew the reason. He gestured for his men to stop – they immediately stood to attention – and walked up to his superior before standing to attention as well.

"Major Alba reporting for duty, sir!"

"At ease," Consolida said, dismissing Quercus' men with a gesture of his hand before turning back to him. "Well, well, look at yourself! I leave you a captain, I find you a major. It was quite the trick you pulled on the invading army. Clever of you, my boy. Really clever."

"Thank you, sir," Quercus said blankly, pretending not to have picked up the sarcasm behind the other man's words. Had he followed protocol, it wouldn't have been the High Command he would have contacted once he had information on what the enemy was up to: he would have had to report to Consolida himself, who would have in turn reported to the High Command… taking all credit in the process. Hadn't Quercus bypassed his authority, it would have been Consolida to be promoted – to brigadier, no less, one step below general. He certainly wasn't pleased with that turn of events; only an idiot wouldn't be able to tell.

And Quercus was going to pretend he was that idiot.

"Although I have to scold you for bypassing me," Colonel Consolida was going on with a chuckle that sounded anything but friendly. "I was supposed to be informed first, you know, and you also know how much I want to be informed of all that happens to my men. You're lucky I convinced the High Command not to take action on this regard: it could have costed you your promotion," he added, but Quercus knew he was lying: the High Command had been far too pleased to receive such vital information to deal a great blow to the enemy troops to even begin to bother with the fact their source had bypassed some colonel with an inflated sense of self-importance.

"My deepest apologies, sir," Quercus said as humbly as he could. "Sadly, we could not contact you as quickly as we wished; there was a disturbance on the line. And I feared withholding such important information from the High Command any longer would cause a disaster. I take of course full responsibility for breaking the protocol."

The colonel stared at him for a few moments with narrowed eyes, as though trying to read him, then he chuckled again. "Oh well, what's done is done. It's quite alright, think no more of it. Now we have more important things to concern ourselves with, don't you think?" he asked, turning to walk towards his tent and gesturing for Quercus to follow him. "The enemy will certainly attack soon, and you must be prepared – it will be you to hold them here for a while, after all."

"Me, sir?" he asked with a slight frown. "Won't you be leading?"

Colonel Consolida shook his head as they walked in his tent. "Oh, no. Not these troops, at least. The troops I'll lead are further on the east; I'll travel there tomorrow morning so that we can get ready for the battle. You'll be the one to lead the troops in this camp, plus the men you brought back here with you. You'll be five hundred in total. Here, take a look at this," he added, reaching to tap on a map of the area that was on a small table. "How familiar are you with this area?"

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar at all, sir."

"Oh, no matter, no matter. That can be easily fixed. See this mountain range? It's the one you see south. Some of the enemy troops are right beyond it. Our spies report that they'll attack in three days at most. Your role will be holding them off for a while."

The memory of how his whole unit had been sacrificed to be used as a bait on his first battle almost made Quercus scowl – they had been told they were to 'hold off' the enemy that time, too. "How many enemy troops do you estimate will attack?"

The colonel shrugged. "Roughly twice your number. But you should be able to fight back for a short time."

"A short time, sir?"

"Yes. See, the rest of our troops is on stance here," Colonel Consolida added, and tapped a finger on a spot in the map east from there. "I'll be the one leading them. As soon as the enemy attacks, we'll take this route – the one going around the mountain, see? – and get right behind their back. By then you will have let them gain some ground until the battle will be going on here," he pointed to an area surrounded by high rocks. "So that they won't be able to turn quickly to face us when we arrive. They'll find themselves surrounded by rocks, with my men attacking them from behind and yours blocking them the only way out. That's how we'll crush them. Your role will be holding them off for a time, then retreat and make sure they follow."

Quercus's brow furrowed in thought. He had been about to point out the strategy would cause heavy losses to his men, but he had held back at the mention of letting the enemy gain ground so that the troops from Reijam would be just where they wanted them: a planned retreat would allow them to limit the losses a great deal… as long as the reinforcements made it there on time. "How much time after the attack do you estimate the reinforcements will arrive, sir?" he asked.

Colonel Consolida hummed thoughtfully. "A day, perhaps, give or take a handful of hours. Not too long. If you slow them down reasonably, it should be more than enough. Do you think you're up for the task, Major?" he asked, turning to him, and Quercus knew something was off; he didn't like that smirk at all. Still, he didn't argue: he was speaking with a superior, and he couldn't just go and question his orders while all he had was a gut feeling. He was going to have to play along for now.

"Yessir," he said, and he kept nodding as the colonel went on and on explaining the strategy – but what he was truly looking at was the small desk where Consolida, he was sure, kept all the information on the enemy, the strategies and the orders from the High Command.

He was going to take a look at those, come what may.

* * *

><p>In the end, he never needed to sneak in the colonel's tent: the information he needed literally fell in his hands, sooner than he had dared to hope for – right on the next morning; Quercus had barely stepped out of his tent when a man in his late twenties – a lieutenant, according to the grades – stepped in front of him and stood to attention. "Major Alba, sir," he saluted.<p>

Quercus looked up and was about to ask him what it was about, if Consolida had asked for him, but instead he found himself falling silent, staring at the man in front of him as though… it couldn't be a ghost, could it? Was he dreaming again? He shook his head a little to get a grip in himself before staring at the man with some more attention, and he realized that no, it wasn't Papilio, it couldn't be him. The resemblance was uncanny, but the man was a few years his senior while Papilio had been his same age, if not slightly younger, and his eyes were green rather than blue.

"And you are…?" he asked, a little more dryly than he meant to as though it could serve to hide the utter confusion he had felt for a moment.

"I'm Lieutenant Anteos Palaeno, Major Alba, sir," the man said, still standing on attention.

Quercus stared. "Palaeno?" he repeated, slowly.

"That is my name, sir," the man confirmed. "If you recognize it, I… I suppose I was right, then. You are the Quercus Alba who survived the battle of Hegeliana five years ago, are you not?"

Quercus nodded. "Yes, that would be me. Why are you…" he paused and waved his hand, realizing that the man was still on attention. "At ease. So, why are you asking?"

Lieutenant Palaeno's posture relaxed. "Thank you, sir. I'm asking because my younger brother died in that battle. His name was Papilio Palaeno. I wondered if you… ever knew him," he asked somewhat uneasily, and Quercus immediately knew what he truly wanted to ask – he wanted to know if he had any idea whether his death had been painful or not. And Quercus knew the truth wasn't something he'd want to hear: he doubted he would want know his brother suffered horribly before Quercus himself shot his face off to spare him the pain… and keep his own sanity.

"Papilio," he murmured, eyes fixed on the other man. "Your brother. Yes, that explains the resemblance. I did know him."

"He was my only brother," the other man said quietly, his voice somewhat strained.

_But it won't be the same thing! You're my favorite brother!_

_I'm also the only brother you've got_.

Quercus clenched his jaw, charing away the memory, just as the man spoke again. "Since you were with him on that battle, I wanted to ask if you were there when… if you have any idea…?"

"I was there, yes," Quercus said, turning away from him. "We were hit by the same grenade. A grenade fragment only got me on my side; he got the worst of the explosion. It was immediate," he lied.

"Oh," the lieutenant seemed unsure whether he should feel awful or relieved. "So he…?"

"He died immediately," Quercus lied once more. "He didn't even realize it. I remember envying his fate when I thought I'd bleed out to death there," he added.

"I… see," the man closed his eyes for a few moments, then he opened them again and nodded. "Thank you, sir. That's a relief."

"You have nothing to thank me for," Quercus replied, then his gaze fell on a sealed envelope the lieutenant was holding. "What is that?"

"This? It's a letter to Colonel Consolida, sir. I'm to give it to him at once."

Quercus' eyes narrowed. That was a chance he couldn't let pass by. "Give it to me first," he said.

Palaeno blinked. "Sir?"

"Let me tell you one thing you probably do not know, Lieutenant," Quercus said after shooting a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking. "The reason why your brother had to die is that they purposely sacrificed our unit. They knew we stood no chance to win. But they still sent us against a much stronger enemy to gain time, lying to us about their real number of troops we'd face and about the strategy. And it is my fear that they might be trying to do something similar. I want to be sure it isn't the case."

Lieutenant Anteos Palaeno stared at him for several moments. "They… sent you to die," he murmured.

Quercus nodded. "That they did. It was pure luck that I'm alive today. You don't sound surprised," he pointed out, looking at the blond man carefully.

Palaeno's looked anguished, but not surprised. "I did wonder if that might be the case, yes," he said. "My brother sent me a letter before the battle. He said it would be a piece of cake, said the enemy would be defeated in no time, said he was going to prove himself. I tried to tell myself he was only as naïve and optimistic as always, but… I did think that some things might have been kept from him and the others until it was too late."

"That's what happened, yes," Quercus said quietly. "I was promoted right after the battle so that I would be… encouraged to keep quiet about it."

The other man frowned. "And that you did," he said, sounding almost accusing now.

Quercus looked at him coldly. "If you think I'd still be alive hadn't I played along, think again," he said. "Not to mention it would have been an unnecessary sacrifice from my part – even if I told what happened, who would have truly cared? You, perhaps, and a few more families. What's that in the face of a won war? Nothing. I would have died for speaking up, and the responsibles wouldn't have been affected in any way."

Palaeno lowered his gaze, and Quercus knew he had seen his point. "But," he went on, "I want to be sure it will not happen again; not to men I am meant to lead, not as long as I can stop it. That's why I want to see that letter, if only for a minute. I want to be sure. Whatever is written in there, I'll seal it again and give it back to you so that you can bring it to the colonel, as you were asked to do. No one will know."

Palaeno hesitated only for a moment before nodding and taking a step forward, handing the envelope to him. "Breakfast is being made," he said. "There is water on the fire. You can use the steam to open the envelope without breaking it. I'll keep the cook distracted for a couple of minutes. It should be enough."

Quercus took the letter and smiled. "I'm going to enjoy fighting along with your, Lieutenant Palaeno."

* * *

><p>Not even ten minutes later, as he sealed the envelope once more and went to meet with Palaeno again at the spot they had agreed to meet again, Quercus wasn't smiling anymore.<p>

Colonel Consolida had lied: it wasn't just a few hundreds of men they would be facing – it was almost all that was left of the army of Reijam they would have to fight, for they had clearly decided their only chance to win the war would be trying a massive attack past the mountains before winter reached a point where crossing them would be possible. There was simply no way they could hold them off for more than a few hours, and the troops Consolida had on the east would never come to aid them.

He was openly scowling, and when Palaeno saw him it took the other man only a moment to know something was wrong. "Did you find out anything?"

"Yes," Quercus said. "I found out that the colonel lied to me about the strategy. The troops on the east that are supposed to be our reinforcement will never come to aid us."

Palaeno's tan skin paled. "They won't…?"

"No. In the letter there was a confirmation of the orders from the High Command; the battalions on the east are to move away from the borders to organize a counter-attack defense north from here. They will not be here to aid us," he said , his voice shaking in anger. There would be no reinforcements for them: he and his men were going to die only to let Colonel Consolida gain enough time to reunite all the rest of the troops and organize a counter-attack.

"That bastard," Quercus growled. "They even lied on the number of enemies we're going to face – they're too many. It's like five years ago, all over again. We're going to be sacrificed only to keep the enemy busy."

It didn't surprise him, far from it, but it infuriated him beyond words; not because of the fact itself some troops were going to be sacrificed, but because it would be the troops _he_ was to lead; he hadn't lived through one slaughter only to end his life in another. Could the grudge Consolida had against him have anything to do with it? But of course it did! That was why he had insisted to have _him_ leading! That slimy bastard…!

"What are we going to do now, sir?" Palaeno's voice snapped him from his angered thoughts.

Quercus drew in a deep breath to calm himself before speaking again. "Tell me one thing – will the colonel be the only one in the camp to leave to join with the troops on the east?"

Palaeno nodded. "Yes, sir. He's been very clear on this – he'll take a truck and leave alone."

"Which means everyone in the camp but him is meant to die," Quercus reasoned aloud before smiling – a smile that made Palaeno take a step back. "That will work for us."

"How so, sir?"

Quercus lifted the envelope. "We have only one way out of this, Lieutenant, and it's rebellion. Since everyone but Consolida here is about to be sent to death, they will be on our side – and no one outside us will have to know what happened. Take this," he gave him the envelope. "I want you to show it to your companions and explain them what it means – they know you better than they know me, so they'll trust you. I'll speak with my own men. We'll meet in front of the colonel's tent in half a hour. Go."

Lieutenant Palaeno seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he clenched his jaw and took the envelope. "We'll be on your side, Major Alba, sir," he said,and saluted him before going off to tell his comrades what was going on. Quercus followed him with his gaze for a few moments before turning and marching off to tell his men how they were being tricked and what course of action they would take. He knew he was taking a great risk, but he also knew he had to act fast.

He would soon find out what the outcome of his gamble would be.


	6. The Crown Princess

"Those bastards…!"

"They're leaving us to die!"

"They lied to us all along!"

"What should we do, Major?"

The question made all of his men fall silent and turn to look at Quercus – who, on the other hand, had listened to their shouts and comments in silence, arms crossed over his chest. He unfolded his arms and straightened himself. "There is only one way out of this, and it's rebellion. We have to protest with Colonel Consolida – and if necessary, we'll render him inoffensive."

"But… isn't that punished by death?" one of his men asked.

Quercus scoffed. Sharp as a knife, that one.

"The other option is a certain death against an invading army we can't possibly face on a battlefield. We might have a chance to convince the colonel to reconsider, and suggest another strategy to the High Command. If he agrees, I will take all responsibility for reading a letter addressed to him alone. If he doesn't... Well, he is the only person in this camp who is _not_ supposed to be sent to death; this means no one will be siding with him – other soldiers are going to stand up against him. They're being informed as we speak. No one outside this camp will have to know what exactly happened if things get ugly – and in any case, if that happens I will take full responsibility. But we have to act now if we want to have a chance: Consolida could leave any moment. Soldiers," he went on, his voice rising, "this is not the first time we go against the odds. You trusted me once; I need that trust now as well. Will you follow me?"

The reply he goat was an uproar. "Yessir!"

Quercus smiled. "I didn't hear you."

"_Yessir_!"

Quercus' smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. It was time to pay the colonel a visit.

* * *

><p>"<em>What's the meaning of this<em>?"

Quercus smirked to himself as the colonel's furious – and yet clearly scared – voice reached his ears even from behind the wall of soldiers who were currently surrounding his tent, not exactly bothering to keep their voices down as they demanded explanations. They did, however, quiet down as Quercus spoke up.

"What's the meaning of this, you ask?" he asked, walking up to the colonel, and the men surrounding the tent parted to let him through – it looked like Lieutenant Palaeno truly had let _everybody_ in the camp know. "We swore to protect out country, each of us – to the last man, the last breath, the last drop of blood. And we will, if we have to. For that we deserve something in return. We deserve respect, we deserve a chance to truly serve our country – an useless death fighting an impossible battle does not qualify as such."

Colonel Consolida stared at him in confusion for only a moment, then his features twisted in an expression of such hatred and a few of the men behind Quercus actually winced. "You!" he hissed furiously. "I should have known you were the one behind all this! I demand an explanation, or else-"

"I believe," Quercus cut him off, "that you are the one who owes all of us an explanation, Colonel. We know you lied to us. We know what is the real number of troops we're going to face, and we know no reinforcements will come for us. We know all of it. And we will not let you send us to our death."

Consolida gave a barking laugh. "You won't let me?" he repeated. "You fail to grasp the fact this is a direct order from the High Command! You are ordered to fight, and you _will_ fight!"

"They're too many! We have no chance of winning on a battlefield!" Quercus shouted, his hands balled in tight fists.

"Orders from the High Command are not meant to be discussed, Major!" the colonel barked. "You have your orders, and you'll follow them! If you don't I'll make sure you-"

Quercus wasn't listening: he was beyond caring for such threats. "The High Command is sentencing us all to death!" he shouted, causing the soldiers who were following the exchange to worriedly glance at each other. "It doesn't have to happen! We still have some time, and if we think things through instead senselessly rushing against the enemy we could-"

"ENOUGH, Major Alba!" The colonel cut him off, his face almost purple. "These are the orders and you're going to obey! If you refuse you'll be found guilty of treason, and you will face-"

The colonel's threat was cut short by a loud bang. He stood for a few moments, his face still contorted with anger, then he heavily fell backwards and stayed still, a bleeding hole right between his still open, beady eyes. No one was going to bother closing them.

"Snipers," Quercus' voice rang clearly in the suddenly silent camp as he put the pistol back in place and turned to the soldiers who were still staring at him with wide eyes. "They're quite bothersome, aren't they?"

There was another moment of stunned silence before the soldiers began to nod.

"Very," one of them said.

"How unfortunate, eh?"

"It was so sudden."

"Instantaneous death."

"Nothing we could do."

"And no one saw the sniper."

Quercus smiled. "Glad to see you're so quick to catch up," he said, turning to glance at the corpse again. "Pity he died before he could tell us what the orders from the High Command were. Oh well. I suppose this unfortunate accident leaves me as the highest rank officer here," he added.

"It does," a familiar voice spoke, and Quercus turned to see Lieutenant Palaeno standing a few feet from him. "What are we going to do, Major?" he asked, and Quercus had to swallow as he realised how intently, even _hopefully_ everyone was staring at him – at least most of them: there were some, among those he had never led before, who still looked doubtful.

"Yes, what are we going to do?"

"Are we leaving?"

"We have to, we can't stay here!"

"They could attack any second, and-"

"We will fight," Quercus said, causing everyone to fall silent for a moment.

"Fight?" one of them finally asked. "But then we'll all die! You said so yourself!"

Quercus shook his head. "No. I said that facing them openly, on the battlefield, would mean walking to our death. But there is a different course of action we can take."

"There is nothing we can do!" another shouted. "We have to get away from here and-"

"And die?" Lieutenant Palaeno spoke up sharply, causing his comrade to shut his mouth. "Because if we do that, death will be just as certain. Isn't that right, Major Alba?"

"Yes, that's exactly it. If we are to claim Consolida died before giving us orders we can justify not fighting the enemy on a proper battlefield as we should have, but we cannot leave: we'd be deserters and would be treated as such. Death is all that that would be in store for us. We must stay, and fight; but we'd have no chance to win on a battlefield, so we must think of another strategy. Soldiers," he added, turning to the men who had been with him already – if the others saw they trusted him, they would be more inclined to trust him as well. "You already followed me once in what was a risky gamble. We won that gamble. I ask you to trust my judgment once more and follow me; I'll find a way to bring as many of you as I can back home alive, or I'll die trying."

There was only a moment of silence, then all of his men - all the ones who had been in Langei with him - stood to attention as one. "We're with you all the way, Major Alba, sir," one of them spoke up for everyone else. Quercus gave him a nod before turning to the others, the men who had only seen him the previous evening for the first time.

"And where, may I ask, do you stand instead?" he inquired quietly.

For a moment no one said anything and they all only stared at him, then Lieutenant Palaeno spoke up once more. "He is the one who realized we were bring lied to," he said. "And he was the one who found the proof. He could have simply told Colonel Consolida that he knew and ask to follow him to safety in exchange of his silence, leaving all of us to face death – and he didn't. He told us the truth and is now taking the risk of being incriminated for insubordination so that we can all have a chance. Isn't that enough for you to know we can trust him to do all that's necessary to bring as many of us as possible back home alive?"

His words had the effect they were meant to have – one moment of hesitation, and the rest of the men were standing on attention as well. "We're ready to follow you, Major Alba, sir."

Quercus saluted back. "I promise you, your trust is not misplaced. At ease," he added before letting his eyes run through the crowd. "We have no time to lose. We have to create a situation where numeric superiority won't be of any use to the enemy. It's our only chance. Is any of you familiar with this area specifically?"

He wasn't too surprised when Lieutenant Anteos Palaeno took a step forward. "I am, sir. I underwent my army training in a facility only a few miles north from here, before it was destroyed in the last war. We often used this area as a training ground."

Quercus nodded. "Very well. Looks like I have a second in command."

The other man blinked. "But, sir, I'm just a lieu-"

"The fact there are other officers that outrank you in the camp is of no interest to me," Quercus said sharply, causing him to shut his mouth. "You're familiar with the area while the others aren't, and that's what matters right now. I'll need your assistance more than anything if we want to make it back home alive. Does anyone have any objections on this?" he asked, turning to look at the other men.

No one said anything, and several of them shook their heads. Good.

"Now," Quercus said. "Who among you can tell me exactly what weapons and ammunitions we have, and in what amount? Consolida mentioned it, but I'd rather hear it from you. I wouldn't trust slime like him to tell me the weather."

"I do," another man spoke up, standing on attention. "I'm Sergeant Mormo_, _sir_. _I was in charge for supervising the transport. I know all you may need to know about the arsenal at our disposal - explosives, mostly, hidden in the old unused mines. Hard to find if you don't know where to look."

Well, Quercus thought, if anything that was going smoothly. "Very well. You and Lieutenant Palaeno will fill me in, and then we'll decide that of the best course of action is. There should be plenty of maps of the area and information in our deceased colonel's tent, so follow me in there. Speaking of which," he gave a light kick to Colonel Consolida's corpse as he walked past it and to the tent. "Do drag the trash away from here."

The soldiers seemed more than glad to comply.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon when Quercus finally emerged from the tent along with Lieutenant Palaeno and Sergeant Mormo, and despite the biting cold all the men were still there, waiting. All of them immediately turned to stare at him, silently urging him to speak, to tell them what they should do. Quercus drew in a deep breath before speaking up.<p>

"I think we've found a strategy that will give us a chance; I don't think we'll be able to defeat the enemy army by ourselves, but we can deal them significant damage – and, most of all, stop their advance without many losses from our part. Once we'll have cornered them, we'll call for reinforcements not to ask for help, but to serve them the enemy on a silver platter, ready for the final blow. What we're about to face is most of what's left of the army of the Republic of Reijam – if we can crush them, we'll have won the war. And I trust the High Command will not pass up the chance."

The men looked both hopeful and sceptical, but that was no real surprise: it was no wonder they barely dared to hope they could have such a chance against a much stronger enemy. "How can we do that, sir?"

"By using the morphology of this area at out advantage. We-" he trailed off at the vacant looks he was getting from almost everyone. "… The _characteristics_ of the area. That's what we'll use. It's a rocky area with high peaks, as you already saw yourself – and, as Lieutenant Palaeno let me know, there are miles of galleries beneath our feet; all now unused mines. Lieutenant?"

Palaeno nodded. "That's right. And most galleries connect just near the entrance of each mine – right over there," he said, turning to point at several peaks that stood not even a couple of miles from them. "Between those peaks, the underground is almost completely empty."

"And that's where we have plenty of ammunition and explosive hidden," Sergeant Mormo said, a grin on his face that was far from reassuring. Quercus ignored his own doubts over the man's mental stability and turned back to the men.

"And the path that runs between said peaks," Quercus said, "just happens to be the quickest way to the very heart of this region, which is where the enemy is clearly aiming to get; they can't take the eastern path because they certainly knew they'd meet troops on the way, and will not want to risk an open fight when still at the borders. The route on the west goes through too many mountain ranges to be a reasonable choice, so they're most certainly going to use that one path. And this is how we'll turn it to our advantage…"

* * *

><p>It took almost two more days before the enemy crossed the border – more than enough for them to make all preparations, which were quite a lot. Almost a whole day was needed to dismantle the camp, leaving no trace at all of it behind, and move it on top of the several peaks surrounding the path the enemy was going to follow – splitting in several groups so that their crossfire could cover the whole area beneath and they could hide more easily: surprise was vital to the plan's good outcome.<p>

The night was spent mostly placing almost all the explosive and half the gunpowder they had – a large amount, Sergeant Mormo had said, and thankfully he hadn't been wrong – inside the old galleries, where the ground was almost empty beneath. The sergeant had been the one to supervise the matter for the most part, and Quercus had to admit he was rather competent when it came to choosing the weak points of each gallery and calculating the amount of explosive needed, though the glint in his eyes while he worked with explosives was anything but reassuring.

"He certainly likes what he does," Quercus had commented as he watched him preparing explosives and gunpowder with the utmost care, as though handling his newborns.

"He loves it," Palaeno had replied, then he had shrugged. "I always said he's a nutcase."

Quercus had chosen to take it as a good thing.

By the dawn of the second day, they were ready. The troops, divided in several smaller groups, were all on top of the peaks surrounding the area the enemy troops had to pass through, hidden from sight – and they would have to stay hidden until the signal was given… a signal they could not miss.

And in the afternoon of that same day, the army of Reijam crossed the border.

It was a quite impressive sight, Quercus had to admit; a long column marching through the plains where their camp had been like a river, a large number of tanks proceeding ahead of the infantry – thousands men marching together, so many that compared to them Quercus' men were nothing but a small gang. They were fully armed and ready for battle that, they would soon find out, no weapon they had would help them to win. Because, Quercus was both pleased and relieved to see, they were heading to the trap awaiting them with no hint of hesitation.

"The radio," he said, crouching down once more, and Palaeno was quick to hand it to him. "Sergeant Mormo, the enemy is on sight. Take your position. Press the switch the exact moment their last tanks and trucks reach the broken tree."

"Yessir. I'll be ready to start the fireworks," was the reply, and Quercus could just imagine his grin. He put down the radio with a frown and turned to Palaeno.

"Would you put it past him being unable to resist and just pressing the switch because he can't wait?" he asked, and Palaeno hesitated for a moment or two before shaking his head.

"Not really, sir. But not in this kind of situation. I hope."

"Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

"Your statement worked far better without that 'I hope' at the end."

"My apologies, Major. Do you want me to reformulate?"

"If you would."

"No, sir. I don't think Sergeant Mormo would do it."

"That's better," Quercus muttered before turning to glance at the other men. They were tense as well, their grip on their weapons so tight that their knuckles were turning white, and they seemed to be getting increasingly tense as the sound of the army approaching grew louder. Quercus couldn't say he was surprised: he actually felt his own stomach turning as he heard the first tanks entering the narrow passage between peaks.

"Major Alba, sir?" Palaeno said quietly next to him after several minutes.

Quercus didn't even turn to look at him, his gaze fixed ahead of him without really seeing anything, all his focus on the sounds coming from beneath them. "What is it?"

"Whatever the outcome is… I want to let you know I'm proud and honoured for the occasion I had of fighting alongside with you."

For a moment Quercus just stared at him, surprised, then he nodded. "I'm glad I had this occasion as well. Your assistance was invaluable," he said, then, "now I see why your brother was so proud of you."

Now it was Palaeno's turn to be surprised. "Papilio was-?" he began, but he trailed off and shut his mouth as the sound of marching steps reached their ears – the infantry was entering the path, which meant it was now only a matter of time before hell broke loose.

And those minutes were some of the longest in Quercus' life; it soon felt like he had been there an eternity, crouched behind some rocks, listening to the endless marching beneath. It was loud, so loud, and for a moment he feared it would be enough to make some of his men snap and somehow reveal the position, or that Sergeant Mormo would lose control and press the switch too early, before the tanks were in the right position. But it couldn't be much more now, it had to be almost time, almost-

The explosion was terrible, deafening, the dust and smoke it raised hiding the sun from view – just like that one time back home, Quercus would have thought had he had a moment to stop and think, just like the day the sun went out.

But then there was a second explosion, and a third one, just as terrible as the first one, and the sides of two of the peaks, the ones at the very beginning of the path, collapsed, burying the last men of the column beneath an avalanche of rocks and stones and blocking the only way out left to the others.

It was time.

All of the men who had been crouching on the rocky sides of the peaks, hidden from sight, stood up as one – and a moment later an inferno of crossfire hit the troops beneath them. The dust raised by both explosions was too thick for them to see the enemy, but they knew the troops were trapped right beneath then, so they could still fire and know they would hit the targets.

The enemy, on the other hand, couldn't see a thing, nor they could begin to imagine who was attacking them and from where. Quercus couldn't see what their reaction was, but he could try to guess – they either tried to run forward and thus fell in the gaping crater that had opened up in the ground with the first explosion to swallow their tanks, or tried to run back only to meet a wall of rocks caused by the second and third explosions; they had nowhere to run, something they were going to realize soon.

And for many of them it would be too late.

After several minutes of shooting, as the dust began to clear, Quercus reached to take the radio.

"CEASE THE FIRE!" he screamed, and moments later the order was repeated to each group. In less than a minute the shooting stopped and no more grenades were thrown, and the only sounds that could be heard were now the screams of the wounded and the curses of those who were starting to realize they were trapped coming from beneath.

As the smoke and dust finally cleared enough to let Quercus and his men see what was going on beneath them, it became clear the trap had worked even better than anticipated: a high number of men, too many to count, were on the ground, dead or dying, and many others were wounded. Those who weren't were trying to scramble against the steep rocky walls surrounding them, as though trying to find any kind of protection from the any more gunfire that could befall them. None of them tried to run forward anymore, for the crater that had swallowed their tanks and trucks was too deep for them to even think about crossing it, but many were trying to climb up the wall of rocks caused by the collapsing of the first two peaks' sides.

"Fire on those who try to climb out," Quercus ordered through the radio, and a moment later the sound of machine-gun fire resounded once more, and those who were trying to climb up to safety fell heavily on the ground, dead or wounded.

That gave away their position, of course, but the enemy would know where they were eventually in any case. All the men left standing immediately began trying to shoot them down, but Quercus was not worried – he just crouched once more, as did his men, and he was out of the enemy's sight and range; no matter how many bullets they fired, they could not hit any of them… and with their tanks and the trucks with the supplies swallowed by earth, they had nothing else to try hitting them with. "Grenades," he ordered.

A moment later hundreds grenades were thrown below, and explosions and screams followed. This time Quercus didn't bother to look. "I want half of the machine-guns to be moved on the south side; none of them can be let climb past the barrier the explosion created. Shoot any time anyone tries to. Two other machine guns on the north side, to be sure no one tries to cross the crater. And snipers, too, so that they can't try to reach the trucks in here to get supplies. All the others hold their positions until new orders; all we have to do now is keeping them trapped here. The cold and the hunger will do the rest," he finished before passing the radio to Palaeno. "Lieutenant."

"Sir?"

"Get me in contact with the High Command. They have a little clean up work to do," Quercus said, then he smiled – a predatory smile that would have made Palaeno shudder had he been facing him. "How the mighty have fallen," he said with vicious satisfaction. "Their numbers truly meant nothing in the end; not now that they're nothing more than thousands trapped mice. This war is over, and I have won."

* * *

><p>The Royal Palace had not changed in those years, but its yard sure looked far more impressive when you saw it from the stage, Quercus found himself thinking – still, he couldn't spare more than a glance at the yard where his men stood: he could not look away from the late queen's Consort as he kept speaking to him, thanking him for the service he had done to the country, praising him and his men for their 'heroic act'. Quercus wasn't truly listening, though – his words were as dull as the man himself – and his attention was actually focused on the person standing beside him: the Crown Princess.<p>

She had grown in those years, on her way to grown into a beautiful, dark-haired young woman. Not that it was surprising, but seeing her now – thirteen, fourteen at most – was a painful reminder that, had she lived, Laurie would have been around that age, too. She would have been the age when you start wondering if the boy sitting at the desk behind you finds you pretty, when you start trying to sneak in your mother's room to try her make-up… and when you start complaining because your big brother is being overly protective and still thinks of you as his baby sister. Would they be arguing now had she lived to go through all that? They probably would have. There would have been so many arguments, the arguments that dragged on and on for days because they were both too stubborn to give in, those arguments the rest of their family dreaded, and-

Quercus was snapped from his thoughts by the realization the Consort had stopped speaking and had stepped aside to let the Crown Princess step forward, the medal shining in her hands – it would be her to appoint it to his chest: certainly one of the small duties she was starting to take upon herself before she assumed the throne in a few years.

"Your Highness," Quercus said, sinking on one knee. The Crown Princess reached down to put the medal on his chest, beside the first one he had received, then she stepped back.

"Rise," she said, speaking for the first time since when the ceremony started. Her voice was still youthful, but cold and collected in a way that bespoke of long years of control and restraint – Laurie's voice would have been nothing like that, Quercus found himself thinking as he stood once more and looked at the Crown Princess. She held his gaze with no effort at all, and Quercus saw something in her black eyes – curiosity? – that made her look her age for a moment. When she spoke again, however, she sounded just as serious and collected and _adult_ as before. "On behalf of the Royal Family, the High Command and all Cohdopia – I thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Alba."

All the troops in the yard responded to her words by saluting. Quercus bowed at the Crown Princess before turning to the yard and saluting as well. He could see Lieutenant – no, Captain Palaeno right on the first row, eyes fixed on him and a smile splitting his face despite his clear efforts to stay serious and collected. Their gazes locked, and Quercus knew exactly what he wanted to say.

_We have won, have we not, sir?_

Quercus nodded even so slightly.

_That we did._

"At ease," the High General finally spoke. "The troops are dismissed."

Quercus found himself staring a little wistfully as he watched the troops matching out of the yard. He knew that now that the war was over, many of those men would go back home – he knew Palaeno was going back to his hometown to get married. Some of them would even return to the village they had been stuck into for weeks, having found someone there; as for himself, the only person he really knew back there was a married woman at least a decade older than he was. What would _he_ do in peace time?

Quercus tried to chase away the thought. Peace wouldn't last, he told himself; it never did in that country. He would have never thought he would see the day he'd consider that a good thing.

"Lieutenant Colonel," the Consort called out. Quercus recoiled and turned to him; he was standing a few feet from him, his daughter standing next to him.

"Your Highness?"

"The Crown Princess requested to speak to you," the man said, and he seemed about to add something else, but Princess Luzula cut him off.

"I _demanded_ to speak to him," she pointed out sharply. "And I demand to do so alone."

Her father winced, but he eventually just nodded and turned to Quercus. "I should hope you will not dwell into details of the battle. It's not something fit to hear for-"

"He'll answer to whatever I ask. They always do," the Crown Princess pointed out, sounding somewhat bored. "Now please leave us, father."

The Consort's shoulders slumped a little, and Quercus couldn't say he blamed him: being told off by his own daughter couldn't be pleasant, though there wasn't much he could do – the girl was the future queen after all. Her father only served as a regent in his deceased wife's steed until the rightful heir was old enough. "As you wish," was all he said before stepping back. Quercus looked at him as he walked up to the High General and began speaking to him – out of earshot, but close enough to see them.

"He's really the one in charge. The High General. My father does everything he says."

Quercus recoiled a little and turned back to the Crown Princess. He was about to sink on a knee once more, as he was supposed to have done already, but she stopped him. "No, stand up straight. I want to look at you."

Quercus did as instructed, frowning a little in confusion. "You Highness?"

"I had never seen a soldier this close," Princess Luzula explained, her dark eyes lingering on his uniform and medals. "I was curious."

"Never seen…?" he said, surprised. "But Your Highness has certainly been in the presence of the Generals of the War Council at least once."

She frowned. "They're not soldiers. High ranks are presents for friends, or are given by birthright. My own older brother is an Admiral, and he doesn't know how to hold a rifle, or read a map, or sail a ship. You, Lieutenant Colonel, are the first _real_ army man I see up close. Certainly the first one I speak to," she smirked. "So I was curious."

Those were quite big claims for such a young girl, but there was something in her unwavering gaze that told him she was not speaking lightly. He eventually nodded. "Your Highness doesn't seem to have a good opinion of the High Command," he said, trying not to let his own distaste show.

"They're old men who wear uniforms and have fun ruling the country while my father does the speeches. That's going to change when I'm crowned," she paused. "You are not old," she added, a girl's curiosity taking place of the cold stares and serious statements.

For just a moment Quercus smiled somewhat wistfully. "I know someone who'd say the opposite."

"That's stupid. You are not," she stated. "How old _are_ you?"

"I'll be twenty-six next month, Your Highness."

She frowned a little and tilted her head on one side. "You look a bit older than that, then. Maybe thirty. But not _old_. How did you make it to Lieutenant Colonel this fast?" she asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"Some luck and quick thinking, Your Highness," Quercus said, then he smiled a bit. "And the uncanny talent to escape death, apparently."

"Were you wounded?"

"Several times."

"Do you have scars?" she asked. Now she looked everything like a normal, curious young girl. Quercus supposed there weren't many exciting things going on in the palace.

"A few."

"Show me!"

Quercus' lips curled in a small smile. "I'm afraid your father might have some objections if I were to take off my shirt in front of you."

"Oh. Right," she said, looking disappointed for a moment, then, "why do you keep fighting on the front line?" she asked.

"As you stated already, I am a soldier. That's what I do, Your Highness. As you pointed out, I'm not among those who received a grade and a position by birthright. I had to work to achieve all I obtained, and I still have much work ahead of me."

"So you _are_ a commoner," she stated, sounding almost surprised even though it was hardly news he was no noble – she would have known if he were. She probably didn't meet commoners often, if ever.

"I was born one, yes."

"And now you're not?"

"I'm a soldier now."

"What does that change?"

"Not much, for now. But someday it might just change everything."

The Crown Princess' eyes narrowed, and Quercus knew she had guessed exactly what he meant. She was clever, he had to admit; quite impressive for such a young age. "What's your full name?" she asked.

"Quercus Alba," Quercus replied, and he realized that was the first time in years, aside from the day he had met Issoria, that he stated his name without stating his rank first.

The Crown Princess nodded. "Quercus Alba," she repeated. "I'll remember it."

"Should I be worried?" Quercus found himself asking, his lips barely curling in a smile.

"I'm going to be queen in a few years," she informed him, as though he didn't know that already.

"And I'm certain Your Highness will make a fine monarch."

"But I know nothing of war. Nor do the people at the War Council. They got their ranks as gifts; they know everything of politics, and nothing of war," she said, and stared straight in his eyes. The fact he towered over her didn't seem to faze her in the slightest. "I'll need real soldiers in the High Command when I rule. If you're worth enough to make it to the top, then we'll meet again."

For a moment Quercus just stared at her, too surprised to process what he had just heard, then he clenched his jaw – how long had his mouth been hanging open like that? – and nodded. "I'm confident we will, Your Highness," he said.

He wasn't wrong on that.


	7. The First Civil War

The two years that followed were inactive and, as far as Quercus was concerned, completely wasted: with no wars going on, inaction became quickly unbearable. While everyone else in the country relished in the newfound peace, he grew more and more restless. And when he began looking in every newspaper he could get his hands onto for the smallest disagreement with any country that could turn into an actual war, he knew that it was time for him to take leave and try to keep himself busy until… until _something_ happened.

Still, once he finally took leave, he found himself unable to think of one single thing he could do. For a moment he considered the idea of travelling back to his hometown, or what was left of it – he had never gone back there, not even to pay his respects to his family, and perhaps he should do so now. But when it was the moment for him to ask for his ticket is wasn't for the closest station to his old hometown he asked – he found himself asking for a ticket to a completely different place. Langei.

It didn't come as a surprised to him: far from it. He had long since come to realize that when he tried to think of _home_, he could think of nothing but that place – not the now non-existing town where his family had lived and was now buried, but a small backwater village where he only truly knew one person who would never call him by his grade or name. A person he hadn't even thought of for a long time. But now he wanted to go there and speak to her more than anything, if only for a little while: she could soothe him once, so perhaps he wouldn't feel that restless anymore after meeting again.

The train left at the crack of dawn to arrive in the mid-morning, and the hours in it seemed endless; trains used to make him sleepy once, a long time ago, but now he couldn't will himself to sleep any time but at night. Life in the army had changed that, too; even civilian clothes made him uncomfortable now, he mused as he finally stepped off the train, missing his uniform more than anything. Still, he appreciated the anonymity civilians clothes granted him, along with the hat he was wearing: he had no doubt more than a few people would recognize him, and he didn't feel like having to deal with anyone at the moment.

There was a small inn not far from the station – he remembered a fair share of his men spending their nights drinking on the ground floor – and he wasn't too surprised when he saw that the man behind the counter was one of those who had been under his command; it looked like he truly had come back there after the war was over for the innkeeper's daughter. It looked like he couldn't avoid being recognized by him, but at least he could tell him to keep his mouth shut.

"Good afternoon," the man said affably as he approached him. "Do you want to eat something or rent a room? Our policy is that you pay the first night in adva-" he trailed off and blinked. "Lieutenant Colonel!" he exclaimed with a wide smile. "My, I almost didn't recognize you in civilian clothes! It's a honor to have you here, sir! What do we owe your visit?"

"I'm glad to see you're doing fine, Lieutenant," Quercus said, having forgotten his name but not his grade. "I'm here to visit a few people. And since I came here without warning, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention my presence to anyone."

The man laughed. "My lips are sealed, sir. I take it you want to rent a room? We have a nice one that's still empty. The biggest one."

"I don't need much space. Any room will do."

"No, no, I insist!" the other man was going on, reaching to take the register so that Quercus could sign it. "I really do. Don't worry about the price, you'll pay it like a regular one. No need for advanced payment," he added as he saw him reaching for his wallet. "And if you want anything to be delivered in your room, like meals or drinks or whatever, just ask. It will be on the house."

Quercus couldn't hold back a chuckle. "You're acting like I'm a special guest."

"But you are, sir," was the reply, and his smile faded for a moment. "I haven't forgotten I'd be dead if it weren't for you. Me, and the others. And how you protected is village is something no one is going to forget anytime soon. I'm going to tell my son everything once he's older – have I mentioned I have a kid? He was born nine months after the end of the war, give or take a few days, so hey, I got the job done before we left. Didn't I have a heart attack when I got back to find Mylitta with a belly this big!" He laughed again. "But I was back here for her anyway, so there, no harm done. I was a little worried her old man would strangle me, but he wasn't too angry. Sure, he said I'd have to marry her, but I came back to propose anyway, so the kid just speeded things up and-" he trailed off as Quercus lifted a hand to silence him.

"I will certainly be glad to listen to all of this later, perhaps while we share a hot meal," he said. "But right now I'm afraid I'm too tired to make much sense out of anything I hear, and I wish to leave my suitcase in the room before I go meeting someone."

"… Oh, right," Stylomecon chuckled. "I talk too much, everyone is always telling me that. Alright then, we'll speak some more later on. Here is your key. I'm glad to see you again, sir."

"I'm glad to see you as well," Quercus said mechanically before taking the keys and heading upstairs. The room was simple but large, as he had been said, and smelled of wood and freshly washed sheets. It was almost too much luxury for him, he mused as he put the suitcase down on the bed and turned to leave. The idea of resting a little didn't even occur to him: he never rested before night, not anymore.

Thankfully, Stylomecon was busy putting some order among some bottles when he went back downstairs, so Quercus could leave without being spotted or held back. The streets were still familiar to him, so familiar that it was unsettling, and only minutes later he was standing in front of a house he had come to know well. He didn't stop to think about anything at all – whether she still lived there or not, whether someone else would be home, what reaction she might have, what would he even say to her – and simply knocked the door before standing there, waiting, ears straining to catch any noise coming from inside. There was the sound of steps, so light he barely heard them, and a few moments later the door opened.

She hadn't changed much; the only difference now was that she wasn't wearing the headscarf and her mousy hair was tied back somewhat carelessly, several strands escaping the rubber band she had used to tie them. And apparently he hadn't changed much either, for she recognized him right away despite the hat and civilian clothes; come to think of it, Quercus thought with some amusement, the nose was often a dead giveaway.

She didn't seem surprised in the slightest to see him. "Young old man," she said softly. "I heard you've made quite the name for yourself – you were a major when you left, were you not?"

"It's Lieutenant Colonel now. I was promoted once more during the war," he said with a self-satisfied smirk before reaching to take off his hat, his rigid posture finally relaxing. "May I come in?"

Issoria nodded and stepped aside. "Of course," she said, letting him in. Quercus walked in, taking notice of the fact nothing had changed in that house, either. It felt oddly reassuring. And, he also noticed, no one else was home. Her husband and older son were probably working, while the boy was most likely still at school.

"Do wish for something to drink?"

"Some water will do, thank you," he said. He followed her to the kitchen and sat at the small table. She fetched the water and stepped back to the table looking at him once again with that motherly expression he both dreaded and yearned for. "You don't look any different," he found himself saying.

"You do look different instead, young old man. Older," she said fondly, reaching to brush back his hair a little before handing him a glass. "More than just two years have passed for you."

"You think?" he smiled a little wryly before drinking some of the water. "Perhaps you're right. Many things happened right after I left. Not many after the end of the war, I'm afraid."

"That is not what I was referring to," she pointed out, a slightly amused smile on her lips, but she didn't add anything more. She reached to take the now empty glass, and he grabbed her hand. She glanced at him, not at all surprised, and he pulled her closer. He didn't get up from his seat – he only put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to rest his head on her breast, his cheek pressing against the freshly cleaned blouse, and he inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes as he felt her fingers gently running through his hair.

"I have another week of leave. I planned on paying a visit to my hometown, but… it can be done later," he added, not really wanting to think that all he had left to visit there was a grave he didn't feel like visiting anymore, then he shut his eyes again. "I'd rather stay."

"I see," she said, her fingers still running through his hair. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"The inn near the station. In the last room on the left," he paused, then, "will I see you there?" he asked. She took a moment or two before replying and for that moment he felt a twinge of something akin to panic in his chest at the thought she might say no, because he had _no idea_ what he would say if she refused. Then her hand resumed stroking his hair.

"Yes," she said softly, and he found himself relieved beyond words.

"Promise me you will come," he murmured against her blouse.

"I promise, young old man."

* * *

><p>Two days passed – slowly – before she was able to keep her promise.<p>

During those days Quercus did his best to keep himself busy by paying a few visit to the other two men he had fought with who had returned to that village after the end of the war, but despite the warm welcomes and the high regard he was kept in he couldn't manage to enjoy himself. Seeing all of them so satisfied with the little they had – a warm home and home-cooked meals and a family – made him uneasy. So in the end he had always excused himself as soon as he could without giving the impression he was running away… except that he _was_.

On the morning of the third day he didn't bother getting up; not that he wasn't wide awake at dawn, but he decided to stay in bed and try falling asleep again. Quite predictably he could not, and before long he was bored out of his mind. He shot a glance at the clothes – civilian clothes – folded on the chair nearby, and he found himself scowling at the thought of wearing them again. He wished he could wear his uniform while on leave: he felt so much more comfortable wearing it. He had no business wearing civilian clothes anymore – how could anyone go back to civilian clothes after wearing the army uniform and experiencing the authority that comes with it?

But apparently, his men could; and they looked so unbearably happy he couldn't stand being in their presence for long, happy with something he once had and _lost_, and that would never again be _enough_ for him. They looked like they needed nothing else at all but what they had already.

Was it the same with Issoria? Was that why she hadn't showed up yet – that she didn't need anything more than what life had handed her, didn't need him? That could be: she certainly didn't _need_ anything of what they might share, for she was clearly happy with the life she had to begin with – on the other hand, he… he did need that. He had no idea how to call it: all that was there was need and longing from his part, and some kind of detached fondness from hers. And while he could imagine, as much as he loathed to admit it to himself, the reason for that longing – home, she made him feel _home_ – he couldn't for his life imagine the reason of that fondness she had for him. He had been unpleasant to her from the start, purposely so, so why-

Quercus was startled out of his thoughts by a soft knock at the door. He sat up and stayed still for a moment, wondering if he had just imagined that, but then another knock came, and he quickly stood up to go open it. He wasn't too surprised to see Issoria standing in the doorway, but he was almost ridiculously relieved. "You've come," he found himself muttering.

"I promised, young old man," she said, smiling a little. "But I had to wait for Stylomecon to get distracted before I could come in. The village is small, and people could start wondering. Did I choose a bad moment?"

That was true, Quercus realized. He hadn't even thought about it: it wasn't like she could come and go as she pleased without anyone noticing, and she _was_ married. "I… no. I was thinking," was all he said before closing the door once she stepped in. "I'm glad you could come."

"So am I," she replied, and then she didn't speak anymore because Quercus had drawn her close and pressed his lips on hers with urgency and something not too far from desperation. She complied once more, as she had done the first and – until then – only time, and for a few more hours, in that room in a backwater village he had come to both love and hate, he felt like he was home again.

* * *

><p><strong>Babahlese region, 1985<strong>

In retrospect, Quercus wasn't surprised when the rebellion happened: it had been a long time coming, as the people in the Babahlese region had grown less and less willing to accept the heavy taxes and militatization of the area in face of little to no representation in the government that resided in Allebahst. The rejection of their request to be allowed to sell some of their whitecrystal oil to Zheng Fa, a country that was in less than friendly terms with the Cohdopian royal family but whose markets would allow some development for the weak economy of the region, had only been the last straw.

The rebellion had started right after the rejection of their request, something the people of the Babahlese region saw as another attempt at keeping all their work directed to only add up to the richest of the more advanced Allebahstian region, and by the time Quercus – now a Brigadier after ten years of successful campaigns – made it there it had spread in most of the major cities, several battalions of Babahlese soldiers having even joined the rebels' cause.

Quercus wasn't technically supposed to take care of it, but since he and the troops under his command were the closest to the area and the railways were in the rebel's hands, he had been told to move quickly and stop the rebellion – whatever the cost, he had been told. He had no problems with that: he hadn't fought more battles than he cared to count to lose to a bunch of ignorant miners brandishing pickaxes.

"Brigadier Alba, sir!" A soldier saluted him as he walked inside the building of one of the cities they had taken under control again. The rebels who were in it had been quick to retreat to the next town, but a few of them had been captured – and among them there was what seemed to be one of the leaders of the rebellion. Quercus was going to ask him a few questions, and he had better answer unless he wanted to weep first and _then_ answer. Not that it would change his fate in the end since rebels were to be executed without a trial, but if anything he wouldn't have to suffer before it happened… and Quercus was more than ready to make him suffer if he had to.

He wasn't ready, however, to see the prisoner standing up and saluting him the best he could with tied arms when he walked in the room he was locked into. He blinked, a little confused by the unexpected reaction – then he saw the blond hair and green eyes starting at him, and he found himself unable to speak for a few moments. "You," he finally said, barely able to believe his eyes. "You are-!"

"It's Captain Palaeno, Brigadier Alba, sir," the man said before smiling a little and lower his tied hands again. "It's been… my, twelve years already. Quite some time. I had hoped we'd meet again, but I certainly hadn't thought it would be in such circumstances."

Quercus clenched his jaw. "What are you doing here?" he demanded to know. "There must be a mistake!"

Palaeno shook his head. "No mistake, sir. I am a rebel. I have been loyal to our county and the Royal Family for a long time, and I used to think the two things were one and the same. I was mistaken. I still am loyal to Cohdopia and its people, and that is why I can no longer stand the fact half of its population is considered lesser than the other half. Perhaps life in the army kept you from seeing how things are for civilians."

"And you really thought trying to go against the army loyal to the Royal Family with nothing but miners and pickaxes would serve any purpose?" Quercus snapped. "You must have lost your mind!"

"There have been troops that joined the cause," Palaeno said quietly. "We have more than just pickaxes; we have weapons, and people trained to fight, as much as it saddens me that we've come to this."

"A handful of soldiers and weapons on your side won't make you win this," Quercus replied with a snort. "You're severely outnumbered, your supplies are going to run out and-"

"We already received offers of help from both Zheng Fa, and Borginia," Palaeno replied, cutting him off. Quercus found himself staring at him for several moments before the magnitude of the statement began sinking in his mind – if the hostile countries that wanted nothing more but prying some of the riches of the Cohdopian soil for themselves had time to send support to the rebels before he could stop the rebellion...!

"Do you even _realize_ what you've set off?" Quercus snarled, unable to believe Palaeno could have supported that madness for even a second.

Palaeno nodded. "I do. That is why I'm telling you about the plans from other countries to give us weapons and men. If they had time to, the country might be torn in two; I don't want that. All I wanted was to make the government in Allebahst realize we'll no longer stand the treatment that has been reserved to us. And whatever happens now, I need you to remember what the reason for the rebellion was. The government needs to set things right once for all, of all this will happen again. You're an important man now; you'll be allowed to speak at the War Council if you so wish. You have to make them end hostilities and _listen_."

Quercus frowned. "I doubt I'd be listened if I asked them to cease hostility and speak to the rebels first. It was _you_ to start this."

"What solution would you suggest, then?"

"I'd take the due measures to make this… madness you started end as quickly as possible, before any other country gets a chance to take part to what's a Cohdopian matter. Only after that I might try to solve the issues that caused it in the first place," Quercus said quietly. "As far as I can tell, it's the only solution. The High Command wouldn't accept asking for a compromise _first_; it would be viewed as a weakness from the central government."

Palaeno sighed, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had been laid on them. "I suppose you know how such things work better than I," he murmured. "I have only one more thing to ask of you, if I may."

Quercus scowled. "I shouldn't promise anything to a rebel," he said sharply. "Just so you know, the only reason why I'll grant you what I can is that I couldn't have fought off the army of Reijam without your help twelve years ago."

Palaeno nodded. "Fair enough. Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me just yet. What is it you want?"

"I'm due to be executed as a traitor to the country, and I fear my family may be in danger once I'm gone. I have a wife now, and… and a child. Colias is only three years old. I don't care what happens to me, but I can't stand the thought they may have to suffer because of my choices."

A child, Quercus thought in mild surprise, and he scowled as the memory of his sister's faceless corpse surfaced from the depths of his mind. He shook his head to chase away the memory before speaking again. "You have my word you won't have to worry for their lives. Or yours."

That caused the man to blink. "Mine?" he repeated. "But I am due to be executed as a traitor without even a trial. I don't think you can change-"

"I can and will," Quercus cut him off before turning and storming out of the room, shutting the door behind himself without another word. He turned to the man guarding the door. "The execution is to be put on hold until my direct order," he said.

The soldier blinked. "Sir?"

"You heard me," Quercus said sharply. "Keep the execution on hold until you receive further notice from me and no other. Should King Primidux himself returns from the afterlife ordering for any execution to happen, the answer remains _no_. It that clear?"

"Yessir."

"Good," he said with a brief nod before he walked outside and began barking orders so that a helicopter could be ready to take off for Allebahst in minutes, and his request to speak to the War Council would be passed up to the High Command immediately.

It was true that he could not change the law on how traitors were to be treated, but what he could change with some luck was Captain Palaeno's status: if that rebellion were to turn into a civil war, Quercus would both be able to have it end quickly by using the full forces of the regular army and to have anyone fighting for the other side declared war prisoners… and treated as such. Which would mean no execution for Palaeno, and glory for whoever led the Allebahstian side to victory.

It was worth a try.

* * *

><p>Quercus hadn't been at the royal palace in twelve years, not since the won war against Reijam, and he had never before set foot <em>inside<em> the palace: he had only been in the yard, once as a simple soldier taking the oath and once as a war hero receiving a medal.

He was therefore taken aback by how huge the Council room was: it was the size of a small square, semi-circular and with high ceilings. Along the walls, above him, there were decorated wooden benches where at least fifty people were now sitting – all the most important generals. And, on a throne placed at the highest bench, staring down at him with eyes cold as long-dead amber, sat Queen Luzula.

"Your Highness," High General Vulneraria, a tall man with iron-grey hair and carefully trimmed mustache, was speaking. "This is Brigadier Alba, who requested to speak to us with urgency. We normally wouldn't have interrupted the deliberations for anyone, but as you might know Brigadier Alba is a distinguished-"

"I am fully aware of who this man is, High General Vulneraria," the queen interrupted him, one elbow propped on the velvet-covered armrest, her chin resting on her fist as she looked down at Alba. "The Plague of Reijam, I believe is how some referred to you – the man who defeated an army with a handful of men. I remember you. I had the feeling we truly would meet again. Rise," she added, gesturing for him to get up from his kneeling position.

Quercus stood, looking straight at her. She had grown into a beautiful woman, as he had thought she would; now he could only hope she would prove herself as clever, too, and that she'd see things as he did. "I did tell you I was confident we would, Your Highness," he said, his voice firm despite the nervousness he couldn't quite push back. "I'd never say anything I don't truly think."

A sly smile curled her lips. "I see. What urgent matter do you wish to discuss with me?" she asked, and from the badly concealed frowns on many generals' forehead it was clear they did not appreciate it how she hadn't even acknowledged their presence. "I was under the impression your duty, at the moment, is at the front lines against the rebellion."

"It is of the rebellion I'm here to speak of, Your Highness. Things could get beyond our control if we don't act fast. The situation is looking rather serious, and I've come to the conclusion the only solution-"

"You're supposed to report on the situation, Brigadier Alba. That's what you say you wanted to do. It is not your place to give suggestions on matters you don't-" the High General began as soon as he realized where Quercus was going, but he abruptly shut his mouth as the queen sharply gestured for him to stop talking.

"I do believe," she said coldly, "that it is my place and no one else's to decide what he may or may not speak of. And unless I'm mistaken, he just arrived from the Babahlese region after seeing with his own eyes what the situation is. Has any of you been there in the past, say, several years?" she asked slyly, looking down at each general. None of them spoke. "Case in point," she said with a smile before turning her gaze on Quercus again. "Proceed, Brigadier Alba. What solution are you suggesting?"

Well, Quercus thought, that was it. He drew in a deep breath before he spoke, bracing himself for whatever reaction his words could cause. "It is essential for us to end this as quickly as possible. The only way to do that is immediately using all of our forces against the Babahlese region – something that can only be done in one case. This is why I'm here – I'm asking the High Council and Your Highness to declare the state of civil war."

His words caused exactly the uproar of protests he had expected from the generals.

"Civil war? You must be insane!" the High General snapped, his voice causing all the mutters to die down – when he spoke, all other generals fell quiet. "Your Highness, this is nothing but some miners' rebellion. We can easily crush them without having to-"

"With all due respect," Quercus spoke up, completely ignoring the generals' glares, for he knew it was the queen he had to convince, and her alone, "I'm afraid Her Highness and the Generals were not informed of the magnitude of this so-called rebellion. It has spread in most of the main cities of the Babahlese region, and most of our troops in the area joined the cause – no wonder, considering that most of the soldiers in the area are from there originally and will support their friends and families. Half of the region is in their hands already, with all the supplies of weapons we had there; the troops that stayed loyal to the royal family of Allebahst have been driven away. They have control of the mines, and of all the train tracks that go through the region; not to mention that both Zheng Fa and Borginia offered the rebels their help. Your Highness, this is more than a mere rebellion: we're facing a war, and for it to end without too much damage we need to treat it as such and act quickly, before other countries can get to have a hand in it. The Council needs to-"

"Nonsense!" One of the other generals barked. "It's some miners. We can crush-!"

"Miners alone wouldn't have managed to put a country under siege. Yes, under siege – how else would you describe our situation?" Quercus remarked. "What do you think we'll _do_ when they've cut us all supplies? The more we wait, the stronger they get; for Cohdopia to survive this night, the High Council needs to declare the state of civil war and give the military the power to put an end to it."

"We've had enough, Brigadier Alba! As though your idea weren't insane enough, speaking up to your superiors truly is-"

"Enough," Queen Luzula spoke quietly, and the High General trailed off with a choking sound. It took him a few seconds to recover.

"Your Highness, you can't be really considering-"

"I said _enough_," the queen said a little more forcefully before turning her attention back to Quercus. "If it is true that Borginia and Zheng Fa offered the rebels their help, how would you know it?"

Quercus breathed a little more easily at the realization she wasn't set against the idea. "We captured one of the leaders of the rebellion, and I interrogated him, Your Highness. He confessed me as much."

"I see," she said thoughtfully before turning to the generals. "It is a very real threat; both Borginia and Zheng Fa would have everything to gain by helping the rebels, in hopes to tear the region and its riches for themselves. How come none of you seasoned soldiers thought of it?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"I… Your Highness, that is a matter of politics, I'm afraid, and it is war we-"

"You could have fooled me," Queen Luzula said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

High General Vulneraria's face turned red with what was most likely a mixture of indignation, anger and embarrassment… if men who obtained high ranks simply by birthright could feel a such thing, Quercus mused. "Your Highness, I beg you to reconsider. Even if it really is an option, there are still matters to talk through…"

"Dum Romae consulitur, Saguntum expugnatur," she retorted, and smiled at his confused expression. "Whilst in Rome they discuss, Saguntum is taken. History makes a good teacher, and one of its teachings is that discussing too long with a war going on is cause of defeat. And the defeat I just mentioned, the fall of one single town, started off a bloody war. I'd rather not get to that point. Would you?"

"I… no, of course not," the man stammered, trying to regain some composure. "None of us would. But without at least discussing it first, the High Command cannot approve-"

"Then the High Command can keep not approving," Queen Luzula cut him off before turning back to Quercus and standing up, a gesture that immediately made him sink on one knee. "Brigadier Alba, on behalf of the War Council, the Royal Family of Cohdopia declares the state of civil war. It will be you to lead the army: by royal decree you're hereby invested of all the power this calls for. The responsibility of the outcome, whatever it is, will completely fall on your shoulders. Do you think you'll be able to handle it, or would you rather let someone else lead the operations?"

Quercus immediately looked up, his heart beating somewhere in his throat. There it was, the occasion he had been waiting for! "I'm humbled by your trust, Your Highness. You have my word I won't fail. Civil war is the lesser of two evils, and I'll make sure to make end as quickly as possible."

"Very well then. I suppose there is little point for you to stay here while you have an army to lead," she said, gesturing for him to raise. "Just one thing, Brigadier Alba."

"Your Highness?"

"Return victorious, or do not return at all," she said, coal black eyes fixed on Quercus' own. He bowed.

"I will be back to report victory soon, Your Highness," he said, and he knew it was the right answer when the scowls on the generals' foreheads deepened and the queen's smirk widened. So that was it – all his work and ambitions were on the line; depending on the outcome, what waited for him could be either glory or disgrace… and Quercus hadn't made it that far to be disgraced like some kind of novice. He would not fail. He couldn't.

And he didn't.


	8. General Alba

"Langei has fallen!"

The radio operator's had been more of a triumphant cry than a proper communication to the High Command, but Quercus couldn't say he minded: after all, he thought as he watched his soldiers patrolling the streets of what had been the last place the rebels had hidden, what was that if not a triumph? He chuckled at the thought as he glanced around to the familiar buildings. How ironic, he thought, hat the rebels' last hiding place, the backdrop of his newest victory, was the very same village that had been the ground of his first true success.

Still, a frown creased his brow as he took a good look at the damage the crossfire had made to the buildings. He had tried to limit the possibility of casualties as much as he could, which was the reason why he had rejected the idea of bombing the place – and for a moment before he had snapped at his underling never to suggest anything like that again he had seen, with the mind's eye, what had been left of his house – but of course it wasn't possible keeping civilians from danger with the rebels having sought refuge in the village.

But so far there seemed to have been no casualties among civilians, partly because once realized that it was over and they could not win, the small gang that was left of the rebels had surrendered rather than risking the lives of the village's inhabitants. Quercus took a mental note to bring that up when he'd report to the queen and the High Command; if to keep something like that from happening again he needed the monarch to be lenient to the rebels, and that could help his case.

Of course, they hadn't been able to keep civilians entirely out of it: since the rebels certainly weren't wearing uniforms, it was hard telling them from villagers. And, since night was approaching, they had taken the decision to lock up all the men old enough to fight they could find until next morning; then, the villagers had been explained, they were expected to help the soldiers telling rebels from villagers; afterwards, the men of the village would return to their homes, and no harm would be done to them. There had been some protests, but overall things had gone smoothly, and the villagers seemed to be prone to cooperating. Maybe, he mused, they were relieved enough to see that the war was over quickly that they hadn't minded too much that last effort.

Quercus glanced at the small crowd in front of the building that had been chosen to hold the prisoners. It was mostly women and elderly bringing heavy clothes and blankets to their friends and relatives in there, and most of them were leaving, having already left them to the soldiers to let the prisoners have them. Quercus stopped on his tracks, a sudden thought hitting him – Issoria had a husband and two sons, the youngest now being probably in his mid-twenties at the very least; they had certainly been taken into custody as well, so perhaps she might be in the crowd…?

He was about to step forward when he saw a very, very familiar figure walking away from the crowd clad in a woolen shawl, clearly having already left what he could to her family. Quercus stepped closer to her. "Issoria," he called out quietly. He hadn't seen her in at least a couple of years – it had been that long since last time he could pay her a visit – visits he sometimes no longer felt like he _needed_, but still longed for from time to time.

She, on the other hand, didn't seem in the slightest surprised as she turned to look at him. "Young old man," she greeted him.

He chuckled, stepping closer. "Not _that_ young anymore, am I?"

"You haven't changed that much in these two years. Except from this," she reached up with a small smile to briefly touch the goatee he had recently let grow "I had wondered if you might be back the moment word of who was leading the regular army reached us."

He stared at her for a few moments; she looked tired, and frailer than the last time she had seen her. Older, too, but that was hardly a surprise; he knew she had to be about fifty now. "I suppose your husband and sons were among the men the army put under arrest," he finally said.

"That wasn't a hard guess – all men in the village had been locked up. By your order, I suppose."

There was no point in denying that. "Yes. We can't take risks," he explained "but it won't be for long – only tonight. In the morning we will separate the villagers from the prisoners, and if they were not involved in the rebellion… then your family will be back home unharmed. I'll personally make sure of that."

She nodded, some of the worried lines fading from her brow. "I was already told that, but it's good to hear it from you. None of them was involved in the war, thankfully. But what of the rebels? Will they be put to death?"

"If this stayed a mere rebellion, they would be. But since a civil war has been declared, all of them will be considered war prisoners and will be treated as such; which means that no, they will not be facing death penalty."

Issoria chuckled. "Isn't it amusing what a simple change in the semantics can do?"

Quercus found himself chuckling as well. "Very," he said.

"If not death, what will they be facing?"

"It depends on Queen Lazula, I think. I'll try to speak to her once I'm back in Allebahst. I can't promise much, but I do hope she can see that the only way to avoid more rebellions or another civil war would be being lenient to the prisoners and meet at least some of their requests."

"Do you think she'll do that?"

"I can only hope. She seemed to trust my judgment once, and it paid off," he said with some self-satisfaction "I hope she'll keep that in mind when I speak to her."

"It's a powerful ally you've got yourself, young old man," Issoria said, a hint of amusement showing in her voice before she reached up to brush a hand against his cheek "I was… worried," she finally said softly "I'm glad to see you're fine."

He smiled a bit. "I'm relieved myself to see you're fine as well," he said, instinctively reaching up to put his hand on hers "everyone in this village was in a dangerous predicament from the moment the rebels arrived."

She shrugged. "I was simply lucky, young old man. You're the one who has a tendency to cheat death, not me."

"You seem to pull through war times dreadfully well regardless," he said before turning to one of his men "Captain!"

"Sir?"

"You're in charge of guarding the prisoners – all of them. Should there be any mistreatment against any of them, you'll be directly responsible. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yessir."

"Good," Quercus nodded at him before turning at Issoria "can you let the other civilians know the men of the village will be coming back home in the morning? We already told them that, but they might trust you more than they trust the army."

"I don't think it will be necessary, young old man. They may not trust the army, but they do trust you. Did you think anyone would forget the man who defended our village twelve years ago?"

Quercus found himself smirking. "I've come a long way since then."

"But to them, you're the young captain who protected this village first, and then cheated an army with a handful of men," she pulled her hand back, and Quercus' fingers twitched with the sudden urge to grab it again and pull it back against his cheek.

"I suppose that still is one of my best accomplishments," he finally acknowledged before adding, "can I pay you a visit, before I head back?"

Her lips curled in a small smile. "You know my door is always open for you, young old man," she said.

He didn't need any more specific invitation to show at her door that night.

* * *

><p>Alba's next visit to the Council of War far very, very different from the first one – as was the situation. Last time he had been in there he was, admittedly, rather nervous; now he had some difficulties hiding his smugness. The High Command had looked down to him when he had first spoken there, and now each General above him was standing rather than sitting – the only one who still sat was the queen.<p>

"Cohdopia once again owes you much, Brigadier Alba," she was saying, sounding far more solemn than she did the previous time, but she didn't spare the High Command yet another jab "and it seems like the High Command was mistaken."

Even in his kneeling position and without looking up from the floor, Quercus could easily imagine the barely concealed scowl on the generals' faces. It took him quite an effort to keep his voice quiet and humble – the queen could afford delivering as many jabs as she liked to the High Command, but he certainly could not. "It was quite the gamble, Your Highness," he said "it was a given that there would be doubts about it, and there were no guarantees on the outcome. I must thank you for the trust you gave me."

"You thanked me by saving this country; we are in your debt – and I loathe being in debt. As far as I can tell, the only solution to this is giving you the fair reward. Rise."

Quercus stood up and looked up at her to see she was now standing, too. He looked up at her, barely daring to breathe, to speculate on what the reward could be… but there was only one thing she could be possibly be talking about, only one, and it was something he had been aiming to achieve for eighteen years, right after that first battle that had left him barely alive among the bodies of fallen comrades with nothing but a flower as his comfort. He wondered how many of those sitting there now were the same ones who had decided to sacrifice his whole unit almost two decades before.

"There is going to be a ceremony in two days; one the whole High Command is going to attend to. After all it isn't every day there is an addition to the High Command. Wouldn't you agree, General Alba?"

General Alba.

_General_ _Alba_.

Quercus found himself unable to speak for a few moments, unable to truly wrap his mind around the idea that he had made it, that he was one of those who _counted_ – a player, no longer a chess piece, no longed one of the expendable ones. As a General, a member of the High Command, he had every right to speak at the War Council; and even though being a new addition meant he'd have a lesser influence than most others', he clearly had something that would make up for that: the queen's favor.

His eyes met the monarch's, and it was then he realized he had yet to say anything. "Your Highness, I'm humbled by your-"

"There's no generosity from my part," Queen Luzula cut him off "I'm fulfilling my duty as a ruler by taking a well-known war hero into the High Command. Now go to rest," she added "the ceremony for your promotion in two days at midday. I trust you won't be late."

"I won't, Your Highness," Quercus replied, bowing deeply to her before standing up straight and saluting the generals, with whom he knew he should stay in civil terms. They answered to his salute, some less enthusiastically than others. High General Vulneraria had avoided eye contact, Quercus mused as the door closed behind him and he walked through the long hallway that led to the exist, escorted by two guards. He didn't seem to like the new addition at all, and that was no wonder – it had to bother him immensely how the queen had ridiculed him by paying heed to Brigadier rather than to him, High General of Cohdopia. He was someone Quercus was going to try staying civil with as most as he could: he was still far more powerful than himself, and having him against him wouldn't be wise… even with the queen's favor. Perhaps he should-

"Brigadier Alba," one of the guards called out, snapping him from his thoughts.

Quercus stopped in his tracks to turn to him. "Yes?"

The man handed something to it – a piece of folded paper kept closed by the royal seal. "This is from Her Highness. She wants you to go at the Flower Garden. Show the guards this, and they'll let you through."

He stared at the royal seal for a few moments, confused – what was it she wanted from him? – and finally reached out to take it. "I see. I'll be there."

The guard nodded and finished escorting him to the hallway that led to the garden on the back of the palace. "Very well, I'll let her know. Also, allow me to congratulate you for the promotion."

Quercus smiled a little absent-mindedly. "Thank you," was all he said before heading to the end of the hallway that ended in the Flower Garden, still wondering what Queen Luzula wanted to speak of.

"Identify yourself," a gruff voice snapped him from his thoughts. He barely glanced at the guards standing in front of the door as he handed them the message from the queen.

"Brigadier Alba. I'm here by Her Highness' order."

"I see," the guard folded the paper again looked at him "_that_ Brigadier Alba? The Plague of Reijam?"

Quercus couldn't help but feel rather smug by the fact his name was so well known to the palace guards other than just to the army. "That's how I'm sometimes called, yes."

The guard – a man who looked well in his fifties – seemed both impressed and amused. "I must say, you're quite younger than I imagined you. What are you, forty? And on to be promoted to General!"

In other circumstances Quercus might have been annoyed by the delay caused by such useless babbling, but he found himself in such a good mood after knowing he was going to be promoted and would have his own seat at the Was Council that he didn't truly mind. "Almost, actually. I'm thirty-eight," he said, avoiding to point out what their ruler was only in her mid-twenties "word certainly runs fast here."

The man gave a barking laugh. "Oh, guards listen to a lot of things, and there has been some talking about you in the palace – you've been leading our army through the civil war after all. And when it became clear victory was nearing, Her Highness seemed to have made up her mind. She ordered a decorative sword to be made, you see, one of those reserved to the members of the High Command. And who else could it be for if not for the hero of Cohdopia? But I digress – let him through," he added, nodding at the guards behind him, who immediately stepped aside form the door.

Quercus nodded at him. "Thank you," he said, faintly wondering if he would have been addressed to so colloquially had he been one of those who usually were in the High Command – spawns of noble families rather than soldiers who climbed up ranks thanks to their own ability. But he didn't really mind; on the contrary, that had already proved to be useful for him: the troops respected and trusted him far more than they'd ever respect anyone of the likes of High General Vulneraria, viewing him as one of their kind.

They were wrong, of course: they were no more similar to each other than a pawn is to a chess player. But on the other hand he wasn't like those useless, soft-bellied fools in the High Command, either. He was one of a kind, Quercus thought with an inward chuckle before stepping outside.

The garden was beautiful, with variety of flowers he had no idea even existed; there was a small pound in the middle of the garden, water lilies on the surface, and a few richly decorated wooden benches were all around it. The Queen was nowhere in sight, but that was to be expected since she had stayed in the Council Room when he had left. He'd wait. And truth to be told, he thought as he glanced around, he didn't mind waiting a bit there. He had never been there – he had never been in any part of the palace that wasn't the yard or the Council Room – and he was used to think of the palace, with all its marble and gold, as beautiful but sterile. It looked like he had been wrong: the Flower Garden told a completely different thing, even in the dead of winter – when, like now, several meters of transparent plastic was spread between the roofs surrounding the garden to keep it warm, turning into into nothing short of a huge greenhouse.

His gaze fell on some flowers on his left, and he frowned a little as he recognized one species of flowers in particular – passionflowers, just like that one, lonely flower he had seen on his first battlefield when he had thought it was all over, that he would die soon like his comrades had. He remembered comparing himself to it in what he had thought would be his last minutes: something frail that would die soon, no matter how much it clung to life. Still, he had been wrong – that flower had long since turned into dust, and he was still there. Life had managed to scar him, but never to break him: he still stood, taller and stronger than before. Much like his namesake, he thought as the memory of the oak in front of his house – damaged by the bombings but still standing, still living and growing, new leaves covering the marks – made it back to his mind for a moment before he chased it away.

He turned his gaze away from the passionflowers and focused once more on the butterflies, wondering where Palaeno was being held in that moment. Perhaps he should take advantage of that talk, whatever it would be about, to try convincing the queen to be lenient to the rebels. The Cohdopian royalty was unpopular enough as it was, after all, and giving the people of the Babahlese region any more reason for animosity would mean risking to find themselves dealing with yet another rebellion sooner or later. Perhaps she would listen-

"I sure hope I'm not interrupting any important thoughts," a slightly amused voice reached his ears. Quercus recoiled and immediately stood up to turn and face Queen Luzula.

"Your Highness," he greeted her, sinking on one knee.

"Rise. I feel like having a walk," she said, turning and gesturing for him to follow. He did, taking notice of the fact there were some guards at around that could keep an eye on them, just in case.

"We're out of earshot," the queen spoke, as though having read his thoughts "and they will not approach, I made sure of that. So, unless you have plans to assassinate me, you have nothing to worry about."

Quercus chuckled a bit. "You've been nothing but a benefactor to me until now. Why should I?"

"I've hardly been your benefactor, General," she said, as though he had been officially promoted already "I did nothing but entrusting the situation to someone I knew was a valid soldier and then giving said someone the due reward for his accomplishments. From what I know of you, which admittedly isn't much, you're your own benefactor. That rather intrigues me – it can't have been an easy path. Say, where are you from?"

Quercus bit his lower lip. "Your Highness, you certain have the resources to obtain such information without having to be bored by my-"

"Let me decide what would bore me and what would not, General," she said sharply as they walked through the garden "but since you ask, I already did gather some information on you, as it's usual doing on anyone about to be promoted to General; but all I got was a spotless military record. A brilliant career. So much work to obtain something the others in the Council had by birthright."

Quercus scowled. "You'll have to forgive me for not being born with a silver spoon crammed down my throat, Your Highness," he said dryly, realizing a moment too late it wasn't the wisest move he could make.

However, she didn't seem bothered. "You may want to watch that tongue of yours, General. You make a good actor, but sometimes you allow your temper to act up," she said casually before smiling "in any case, let's not digress. What I was saying is that I could only find information on your career in the military; nothing I didn't know already. There is no information about any Quercus Alba anywhere before that – only a few enrollment papers at the law course that the university of Allebahst. A course you never completed."

Quercus' features twisted in a bitter scowl for a moment, as always when thinking back of those years. "Save from one document I had in my wallet, all the documents regarding me were lost eighteen years ago in a bombing. That includes my birth certificate, school folders, and so on. That bombing was also the reason why I dropped my studies and joined the army. There truly is nothing left before then."

"Where did you live? And what happened?"

"I was born in Dianthus from one of the merchants who lived there. It was a small town near the northern border of the Allebahstian region, mostly relying on commerce. It's no wonder you never heard of it, Your Highness. It was never important. It was destroyed a long time ago and was never rebuilt. It was that attack to start off the war with Borginia back in 1966."

"I see," she said, looking thoughtful "and you lost everything in that bombing. What was it you _had_ before?" she asked, turning to look straight in his eyes.

Quercus found himself turning away. "Not much," he said.

_Everything_, he thought.

"But there had to be something."

"A house, a family," he said quietly "and some friends. But none of them survived."

"But you did. How?"

He drew in a deep breath. "I had been away, and when the bombing started I had just stepped out of the station. Had I been home, I would have died. I suppose I was lucky, but at the time I didn't feel like I was."

Queen Luzula seemed thoughtful. "You have a thing for escaping death, it seems. Say, are you aware of how you're often referred as?"

"The Plague of Reijam."

"No, not that. Your other nickname. You know what it is, don't you?"

He did. "The Cheater of Death."

She seemed amused. "Yes, that. It fits you. How many times have you escaped death to this day, General?"

He managed to smile a little. "To be honest, Your Highness, I lost count."

She nodded. "Yes, either by luck or ability you escaped death many times. But let me tell you one thing," she turned to the entrance that brought to central building of the palace "you'll soon find out this place can be far more insidious than any battlefield. People in here can promise you anything, but always for a price. And it might be more than someone with no influent family nor title would want to bargain for. Do you understand what I'm saying, General?"

Quercus nodded slowly. "I think I do," he said. Unlike the other generals and members of the Council, he had no royal title nor a powerful family to back him up – the queen's favour was the one thing that could make up for it, and she was certainly aware of that.

"And what is it you think I'm driving at?"

"That to anyone in there I'm expendable," he said quietly "and that once I'm done being useful, no one would be left to complain should I be found dead with a dagger in my back. Which wouldn't be unlikely to happen should I happen to know something I shouldn't; dead men tell no tales. Is that what you mean?"

Queen Luzula smiled slyly. "Yes. You may be a soldier, but I see plenty of politician material beneath that uniform. So, what do you think would be the most effective life insurance for someone like you?"

That, Quercus thought, wasn't even a question. "Reserving my utmost loyalty to you alone," he said.

"Exactly. I know the High Command – or at least those in it who don't simply follow blindly whatever the High General and his lap dogs say – misses dearly the time when they held the true power and let my mother first and then my father do the speeches and nothing else. I need someone in the High Command who'll have all interests in being loyal to me alone. That is, after your value as a soldier, the second reason why I want your to be part of the War Council."

"And may I ask what is the third one?"

She seemed amused. "What makes you think there is a third reason?"

"Simply a gut feeling, Your Highness. Am I wrong?"

There were a few moments of silence as she observed him. "You truly would make a fine politician," she finally said "but for now it is a soldier I need. Yes, there is a third reason. You are aware of what's the reason why you're so popular in the army, aside from your victories?"

Quercus couldn't help but find it rather amusing that she should ask him that only minutes after he had mused about it. "The troops see me as one of them – a commoner, the son of merchants, who climbed ranks because of ability alone. That gained me their respect more than any of my victories, I think."

She nodded. "Precisely. The system of ruling we have here in Cohdopia is ancient, I'm afraid, solely based on the privilege of money or birthright. People have already clearly showed how little that is appreciated. I can't dismantle centuries of traditions in mere years, General, but I can send a signal. Having you – the son of merchants turned war hero – into the War Council as a member of the High Command _is_ that signal."

It was almost amusing, Quercus mused, how his humble origins, something that was supposed to hinder him, had turned out to be the last push he needed to make it to the highest ranks. "I'm humbled by the importance you give me, Your Highness. I'm certain my promotion will have quite the effect on all the army – and yes, I suppose it will help with civilians, too."

"But…?" she urged him on, clearly having guessed the lingering 'but' in his statement.

"Do I have the permission to speak freely?"

"Do. I certainly won't be offended," she said, sitting on a bench and absentmindedly picking one flower "advice on matters concerning people is yet another thing I think you'd be useful with. Do not hold back."

He nodded. "I will not, then. I believe that while my promotion will make an impression when it comes to the army, to really send a strong signal to all your people something else is required."

"And that something would be…?"

"The rebels in the Babahlese region certainly were rash and irresponsible, but their reaction was caused more by exasperation than by any actual intention to defy you – the people of Cohdopia know that. Now that they're beaten, nothing would make you look better in the people's eyes than an act of mercy."

Queen Luzula tilted her head on one side. "Mercy?"

"Yes. The rebels we captured are now war prisoners, and as such it would be within your right having them judged by the martial court and have them sentenced to prison for a long time, if so it's seen fit. But that would only give your enemies more ammunition to slander your reputation by making martyrs out of them. And it would not solve the root of the problem."

She nodded. "I think I see what you're driving at," she said "I already knew that some rules would have to be changed in dealing with the Babahlese region: while controlling it is extremely important to our economy, a too strong control creates internal instability with quite unpleasant drawbacks. That much I have seen. And you think being lenient to the prisoners would help?"

"I do believe it would be an important first step. By letting them go and proving yourself willing to listen to their request and find a reasonable compromise, you'd gain a much stronger internal stability. We can't afford risking another rebellion; if it happened again and either Borginia or Zheng Fa were quicker to try taking advantage of it than they were this time, it could be the end of Cohdopia."

Queen Luzula smirked. "I'll keep that well in mind, then," she said before standing once more "now I do have meetings to attend to, and I suppose you need some rest. Only one thing…" she gestured for him to step closer, and when he did Quercus noticed there was something in her hand – a medal, much larger than those he already had.

"For your latest deed," she explained "I'm supposed to give this to you during the ceremony. And I will. But I didn't feel like waiting that long to see how this looks on you," she said, reaching to put the medal on his chest. She stepped back to take a look and chuckled before taking it back.

"Very well. We'll meet again at the ceremony," she said before turning to walk back to the entrance, leaving Quercus alone among the flowers to wonder what had all that truly been about.

* * *

><p>The day of the ceremony the sky was dark, black clouds hiding the sun from sight. Quercus didn't really mind: it wasn't raining anyway, and he rather liked the impressive blackness of the sky and the rumbling of thunder that was sometimes heard in the distance. To be honest, he half-hoped there would be a proper thunderstorm once the ceremony was over: he had always liked storms, always liked it how clean and refreshed the air would be once they were over. In a way, it was rather fitting how a storm was brewing now – because a storm was coming, and it was him.<p>

And he was going to leave a mark in his wake.

The thought almost made him smile before he reminded himself he was supposed to keep an impassive face. He kept standing straight as Queen Luzula – even more beautiful in her ceremony gown, a part of his mind noticed – thanked him on Cohdopia's behalf before reaching out to put the medal he had seen the previous day on his chest.

A flash of lighting chose that moment to illuminate the skies, causing the medal to glint ominously, and it was a good thing that next thing he was supposed to do was sinking on one knee with his face turned to the floor: that way no one was be able to see the smirk that for a moment showed on his face.

"Quercus Alba," the queen's voice reached him from above "do you once more swear loyalty to the Royal Family, to the High Command, to Cohdopia and all its people?"

How ironic, he thought, that he was to swear loyalty to the queen and the High Command at the same time while both him and Queen Luzula knew all too well his loyalty could only lie with either, never with both. "I swear."

"Then for the valor you showed and the accomplishments you achieved for the Principality of Cohdopia, I welcome you in the High Command. Rise, General Alba."

Quercus rose to face the queen again, and two men who had been standing behind him the whole time stepped forward to put something on his shoulders – a cloak. The Queen reached out for him again, this time to clasp the cloak closed around his neck with a golden pin with the Cohdopian symbol on it – the flower and the butterfly. Their gazes locked, and she gave him the faintest smile.

"It does look good on you," she said so quietly that no one else could hear her before holding out her hand on her right.

High General Vulneraria – who looked all the world like he had just eaten a lemon – handed her something, which she immediately held out to Quercus. Quercus almost smirked as he looked at the object: the decorative sword reserved to generals. It was a truly beautiful object, with a golden hilt decorated with the flower and butterfly of Cohdopia, inside a richly decorated sheath. Fine leather straps came from the sheath, to fasten the sword around his waist – and Quercus did just that after taking the sword from the queen with a deep bow.

Then, with the sheath securely fastened on his side, he turned to face the yard and the troops that were in it for the last act of the ceremony. He saluted the troops, and each soldier in the yard – all of them having been standing in attention since the beginning – saluted back. Another thunder resounded through the dark sky, closer than the others, a blow of wind making Quercus' cape flutter behind him like the wings of a bird of prey.

Quercus chuckled inwardly at the sense of foreboding before he reached to draw out his sword and lifted it in the air. He stayed still a few instants, savouring the moment – the sea of faces looking at him in admiration, the weight of the decorative sword in his hand, the medals and the pin gleaming on his chest, the fresh wind on his face that already smelled like rain – and finally brought down the sword in a wide arch.

It was the signal: the very same moment he brought down his sword the cannons on each side of the royal palace began firing and firing and firing – fifty shots in total, as it was custom any time a new general was appointed.

And until the last shot was fired and its roar died down to be covered by yet another thunder General Quercus Alba stood there, the sword in his hand and his gaze fixed on the troops beneath him, feeling as though he was looking at insects from the top of the world. Only when the first drops of rain began to fall he looked up, his gaze only meeting dark clouds, and smiled. The sun was nowhere to be seen; it had gone out – it had gone out a _long_ time before then – but _he_ was still there, and that was enough.


	9. The Assassin

**Allebahst, Cohdopia, 1988**

"General Alba, is that you? My, it's been a while! I take it you're just back from the borders of Zheng Fa?"

Quercus, who had been walking up the steps that led to the entrance of the Royal Palace, paused to glance back at the man who was climbing up as well, though in a much slower pace – one of the generals of the High Command. Clematis Durandii, Quercus recalled his name being. They hadn't spoken much, especially since the past three years had been rather peaceful and the High Command rarely had to hold the Council, but as far as Quercus could tell he was decent enough. An idiot who only had his position thanks to a powerful social position, yes, one of those who could only nod at anything High General Vulneraria said – but he didn't seem to have bad intentions, and he had actually been one of those who had turned out to be rather friendly to him after he had been promoted to general.

"General Durandii," he said pleasantly, waiting for the older man to reach him. Even though after the civil war there hadn't yet been strong disagreements, he knew some generals – Vulneraria most of all – didn't like him, nor how much heed the queen gave to his advice; there was no point in risking to lose the favor of those who actually didn't mind him over an impolite reply. "Yes, I'm just back from the eastern borders. I'm to report the situation in today's council."

"Oh, that's right. I almost forgot," the man said with a chuckle, and Quercus was sure he hadn't even bothered to check the agenda "do you mind if I ask you right away how the situation is?"

Quercus shook his head. "Not at all. It's stable enough, actually. Some tension at the borders, as always, but nothing more. No one crossed them, and the whitecrystal oil market seems to be doing well," he added. After the civil war Queen Luzula had listened to his advice: not only she had set the rebels free soon enough – Anteos Palaeno had written to him to thank him once he was back home to his wife and son, clearly having guessed who had convinced the monarch – but she had also granted some of the requests that had been advanced before the war by the people of the Babahlese region.

One of such requests being the permission to sell whitecrystal oil to Zheng Fa, although with some limitations. Zheng Fa had tried to press for more, clearly hoping the possible economic advantages of selling more oil would tempt the people to demand the permission to export more and cause yet again some social unrest, but so far it hadn't worked: the people of Cohdopia had had enough of civil wars for time being.

Durandii seemed to share that sentiment. "That's good to know. We certainly do not need another war."

Quercus turned his gaze away. "No, we don't," he said flatly. Truth to be told, there were times when boredom almost drove him crazy and he kept hoping for something – anything – to happen. Just like it had happened the previous time there had been years of peacetime, he simply couldn't stand the fact there was nothing for him to do; the only difference being that while last time he was eager to get back in action to climb ranks, now that he had achieved that he was eager to lead the troops to battles once more because it was just all he was able to do now, all he was able to enjoy doing.

"I'm really glad you have good news," Durandii was saying as they stepped inside the palace, greeting the guards with a brief nod "and I'm sure the others will- General Alba, aren't you coming to the Council Room?" he asked as he saw him heading for another hallway.

"Soon," Quercus replied "the meeting starts in half an hour, and Your Highness requested my presence elsewhere first."

"Oh, I see. I'll see you there, then!"

"Of course," Quercus said, giving him a brief nod before walking down the hallway and then to the door leading to the Flower Garden. The two guards standing in front of the door immediately recognized him.

"General Alba," one of them greeted him "Your Majesty is waiting. Your sword, if you will."

Quercus nodded and unfastened the sword and its sheath from his waist before handing it to one of the guards; no weapons were allowed inside the Flower Garden. One guard took his sword and the other stepped aside the doorframe to let him through. Quercus gave him a small nod before heading into the garden.

He hadn't seen the queen in six month, and as his eyes found her sitting on a bench in front of the fountain he found himself taken aback by how much her shape had changed – then again, it was hardly a surprise: her pregnancy had to be nearing the end, and they would soon know whether or not the Cohdopian throne would have its heir. She certainly had to hope so, for it was no mystery she strongly disliked her Consort and was looking forward to getting him out of the way once he gave her a daughter.

He stepped closer. "Your Highness," he called out, sinking on one knee as it was custom, and as she turned to look at him with her usual half-smile and cold eyes he knew that nothing but her shape had changed.

"General Alba. What news do you have from the border with Zheng Fa?" she asked, standing up before gesturing for him to stand as well.

"Perhaps you should keep sitting, your Highness," he said "there is no need for you to-"

"I'm not about to break for taking a few steps in the garden, General Alba," she cut him off, and it was clear she wasn't going to accept objections. It occurred to him she was probably tired of being told, over and over again, that she shouldn't do this or that.

"My apologies, Your Highness," he said humbly "but you do look tired. Don't you think the Council can wait until later? I don't have much of anything to report, as I already wrote in my last message. There is the usual tension, but the situation at the eastern border is stable."

She shook her head as she began walking through the garden. "No. If I were to delay this meeting, it would be seen as a sign of weakness. And I can't afford that. Though I suppose there is no real point in hiding the fact I'm tired," she sighed ad grimaced "it had better be a daughter, because I'm not going through this again," she muttered almost to herself.

Quercus smiled a little. "In this case, I am humbled by the fact you do admit being tired in front of me," he said, pushing her just a little. It was something he had started doing the previous year, mostly out of boredom, and she didn't seem to mind: they knew where they stood, and the game amused both of them.

"That's because I'm certain of your loyalty to me. And I'm certain of that because I know it's what's better for you," she smirked "and you're not one to go against your own interest. That's what I trust – your selfishness."

Quercus smirked back – he had missed that kind of talks, he had to admit. "You say that like it were a fault, Your Highness."

"And it isn't?"

"Selfishness is true reason why people do anything in their lives, Your Highness. There is no other motive behind any action."

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think that's all that there is to people?"

"Yes."

"Prove it," she countered.

He chuckled. "With pleasure. Do tell me, Your Highness – what is it you think is supposed to be above any kind of selfishness? What is it people are supposed to be entirely selfless about?"

Queen Luzula frowned in thought just for a moment. "I suppose a lot of people would choose friendship, or love," she grimaced a little at the last word "so what of them?"

"People cling to other people out of need. They _need_ friends. They _need_ someone to share their lives with. They would do everything to keep friendships and love because they can't go on without them: loneliness would be too much of a burden. It's a mere matter of self-benefit. What's more selfish than that?"

She looked at him for a few moments before nodding slowly. "I suppose I see your point," she admitted, and Quercus chuckled inwardly: getting that kind of admission out of her felt almost as rewarding as a won battle. Almost. He opened his mouth to add something, but then he caught a movement on the corner of the eye from right above them – something falling down from one of the walls surrounding the garden.

He turned at once, instinctively raising his crossed arms above his head to shield it, and it was a wise move: this forearms blocked a blow, and something sharp that was probably supposed to bury itself in the back of his neck grazed at his scalp, cutting only through skin. Quercus let out a gasp, more out of surprise than out of pain, and staggered back, blood already soaking his head. It would have taken him only a moment to recover, but his assailant wasn't up to give him a chance to even try: not even an instant and a violent kick in his stomach sent Quercus on the ground, gasping for breath, his sight blackening for just a moment.

It was a woman's cry to keep him form falling unconscious – the queen's. She had to be the target, he thought, and he felt a sudden wave of hatred rushing through him, clearing his mind – he would never again let someone he was supposed to protect die on him. Quercus was on his feet an instant later, and through the blood clogging his eyesight he saw the assassin – a tall, lean individual whose features were hidden by a black scarf – raising the dagger stained with Quercus' blood to strike the queen, who seemed paralysed on her spot.

The moment he struck, however, Quercus reached out to grab Queen Luzula's arm and yanked her back. The dagger barely missed her throat, and Quercus was on the assailant before he could bring his arm up again. He grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, trying to make him drop the dagger, but no avail: that man held on the knife and began struggling to stab him, and Quercus suddenly wished more than anything he didn't have to leave his sword behind when he entered the garden. He faintly heard the queen calling out for the guards, and his efforts not to let go of that man's armed hand doubled. It he could keep him from using his weapon only another minute, until the guards were there…!

The assassin – because it was an assassin, no doubt about that – seemed to guess his intentions, for he decided to turn the tables. With an impressive amount of flexibility, the man managed to deliver a swift kick behind Quercus' knees. Caught by surprise, Quercus lost his balance and fell on his back, but he didn't let go of the assassin's wrist for a second and dragged him down in the fall. The man seemed to have realized trying to break free from his grasp was not an option, so he directed his efforts in using his combined strength and weight to try pushing the dagger into Quercus' chest.

And, for the first time since their struggle had started, they found himself staring in each other's eyes. Quercus wasn't _too_ surprised to see that the black eyes hatefully staring down at him were almond-shaped.

"You're from Zheng Fa, aren't you?" he growled, his arms straining to keep the dagger away from his chest – but his opponent had his weight other than his own strength to use, and unless he found a way to gain the upper hand quickly that dagger would bury itself in his chest.

The man growled as a response, and as his arms began to give away Quercus knew he had to get him off himself, fast – and while the only way he could think of was risky, he saw no other solution: trying to just kick him back wouldn't work since his other hand was grasping Quercus' uniform and he certainly wouldn't let go so easily, and if he let go of his writs and failed to get him off himself the assassin would plunge the dagger in his heart. No, if he were to get him off himself he would have to use all the strength he had in his legs to throw him off him over his own head… which meant that for a moment all the man's weight would be on the dagger, already dangerously close to his chest. If his arms weren't able to sustain the weight-!

_I have no other choice; I can't hold him back anymore._

Finally, Quercus gritted his teeth and twisted, bringing his knees up as much as he could so that he could use both legs to throw the assassin off himself. The man gasped, his eyes widening as Quercus' boots hit his stomach, and Quercus sneered up at him for only a moment before throwing him over his head and off himself.

Adrenaline running in his blood, Quercus didn't truly register any pain and the dagger pierced his chest for only a moment: all he felt was the sudden warmth and wetness of blood, but he had no time to stop checking how deep the wound was – the same moment the assassin was finally off him he leapt on his feet and turned. He had just landed on the floor and hadn't had the time to turn, let alone to stand up… and Quercus wasn't about to give him that chance. He was on him before the man could do either, grabbed both sides of his head and twisted.

There was a loud snapping sound, and the man shuddered just once before going limp in Quercus' grasp, the bloodied dagger he had held onto finally falling from his hand. Quercus let go of him, breathing hard, and the man's lifeless body crumpled on the ground. "Damn you," Quercus gasped to the dead man, struggling to get back on his feet. He managed and tried to take a step, but he felt dizzy and his knees gave away – still, he didn't hit the ground: someone caught him first.

"General Alba, can you hear me?" the guard who had caught him before he could fall was asking as he gently leant him on the ground "General Alba!"

"He's wounded can't you see that?" a stern, cold voice – the queen? – made the guard stop calling out for him "tell the others to call the physician, quick!"

"But Your Highness, you shouldn't stay here! It isn't safe! You should get back-"

"Don't you _dare_ try telling me what I should or should not do! Go call the physician!" the queen snapped somewhere above his head, and he heard the guard's steps fading away, until they were covered by the other guards' shouts as they searched the garden for more assassins. What if there were more assassins?

"Your Highness, he was… right," Quercus gasped, looking up at her as she knelt beside him "you should-"

"Hush," she brought a finger to his lips "say nothing more; I do not appreciate being given orders, even when they're disguised as advice. Besides, you're wounded. Save your strength."

"It's… superficial," Quercus said, trying to rise again, but she put a hand on his forehead to push him back on the ground.

"It doesn't look superficial, and you are losing much blood. Don't move – that's an order. Disobey, and I'll have to strip you of your grade."

Despite everything, Quercus found himself chuckling. "Now that's an order… I cannot defy," he managed to say, hearing his own voice as though coming from miles away, and he realized he was having more and more trouble seeing her face clearly, his vision blurring. A pang of fear finally made it through his clouded mind – how serious was it? Was he _dying_?

_No, no! It can't be, not now! I refuse to! No!_

"Y-Your Highness," he choked out, fear finally showing in his voice against his own will as everything around him began getting dark.

He felt soft, small hands gripping his roughened ones. "You will not die," she said sharply, her voice sounding distant "that's yet another order you had better not defy."

Quercus smiled faintly. "I… wouldn't… dare."

He heard her chuckling, if a little shakily. "Of course, I know it was for your own selfish reasons. But," she paused, taking a moment to brush some hair off his sweaty forehead, and her next words were the last thing he heard before he slipped out of consciousness "thank you for saving my life."

* * *

><p>Quercus had never used to silken sheets in his life – his family could never afford such luxury and in the army sheets are were made of cotton at the very most – and while it felt odd at first he could appreciate their fresh smoothness. When recovering from wounds, usually after one battle or another, he had to recover into some bunk, with some blankets thrown over him. Recovering into an actual bed with silken sheets, inside what was by far the most luxurious room he had ever been into and with servants who'd rush there the moment he pressed one button was quite a pleasant change.<p>

Still, it wasn't enough to keep him entertained for long. Quercus hated feeling powerless, and being confined in bed made him feel just that: powerless, vulnerable, and caged – no matter how gilded his cage was. Quercus pulled down the sheets, and scowled at the sight of the bandages covering his torso. He had tried to stand as soon as he regained consciousness, of course, but he had felt dizzy almost immediately, and the physician had forbidden him to even try again – he even had the nerve to threaten to tie him down, that old idiot! If only he had a little more strength…!

"I'm glad to see you're awake."

Quercus was startled out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. He immediately looked up to see Queen Luzula standing on the doorway – he hadn't even heard the door opening. "Your Highness," he greeted her, bowing his still bandaged head. Trying to get out of the bed to sink on one knee was out of question, especially considering he wasn't in the appropriate state of dressing to do that. He was suddenly thankful of the fact he had only pulled down the sheets enough to check the bandages on his chest.

"According to the physician," she said, walking up to him "the dagger barely missed the aorta. You and I seem to have different ideas of what a superficial wound is, General Alba."

Quercus smiled a bit. "My apologies, Your Highness, but I'm no physician. And in the heat of the moment, I didn't bother to check."

"I see," the queen murmured, looking quite thoughtful "it was quite a risk you took."

"My life was on the line as well, Your Highness," Quercus said.

"You know it wouldn't have been had you not come between the assassin and me again."

"As you stated yourself, Your Highness, your favour is what makes up for the lack of a powerful family to back me up – and for the fact a fair number of the other generals don't seem to think highly of me. If you were to die, I would have lost everything."

"You would have lost even more if the assassin managed to kill you. The odds were against you: he was armed, and you were not."

"I'm a soldier, Your Highness. I'm used to fight both men and the odds," he said, not willing to dwell on what had actually prevented him from blacking out after the first blow, what had dragged him back to consciousness and drove him to attack the assassin – the anger that assailed him at the unbearable idea of letting someone _else_ he was supposed to protect die on him.

Queen Luzula gave him a quizzical look, but she didn't dwell on the matter any further. "Regardless," she said "you did save my life. That is the final proof, if I need any, that you are utterly loyal to me – whatever your reasons are," she chuckled and rested her hand on her stomach "and now not only you're a war hero, but also the only person saved _two_ generations of rulers from assassination at once. Impressive. But I'm sure you've already thought of all the prestige this just brought you – and of the enemies it gave you."

Quercus nodded. "I have. Especially the latter," he said quietly "the assassin must have received help from inside the palace if he could make it to the walls surrounding the Flower Garden."

"Precisely. We think he was from Zheng Fa, but we of course have no real proof; he wasn't nice enough to carry any documents along with him," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed "and the government of Zheng Fa is obviously denying knowing anything at all about him. As for whoever helped him getting through, I cannot say I don't have any ideas – I do, and I'm certain you do as well. Don't you?"

"I do. Those who'd have the most to gain by your death and that of your child are the members of the High Command; first and foremost, High General Vulneraria."

Queen Luzula's lips curled into a smirk. "That's a heavy accusation to move at your superior."

"I was merely stating a fact, Your Highness – he would be the one in charge should you die. Of course, your brother would take your place, but we both know he's the same kind of person your father was: he'd do the speeches, sign whatever needs to be signed, and let the High Command truly rule the country… and Vulneraria will lead the High Command. Isn't that what you think as well?"

She nodded. "It is. But as you already said – we only know those facts, and have no proof at all the High General, or any of the others for the matter, had anything to do with the assassin. That is why I can do nothing against him," she paused and leant a little forward, smirking, her eyes fixed in his "yet."

"Yet?" Quercus echoed, unconsciously pulling back, the closeness making him suddenly uncomfortable, his mind all too aware of the warm weight of her hand on his thigh through the sheets.

She pulled back and nodded, absentmindedly reaching to brush her black hair back, and Quercus found himself breathing a little more easily. "Yes. I will know what he's up to, and you will help me. But not now."

He blinked. "What am I to do, Your Highness?"

The queen dismissively waved a hand. "You're too curious for your own good, General Alba," she said with a smirk "I'll tell you later. When you come back from your leave."

"Lave?" he repeated, frowning in confusion "I asked for no leave."

"That isn't relevant," she said lightly "once you're feeling better, you're taking two weeks of leave. Do what you will with that – what matters is that you'll be fully recovered by the time you come back."

"Two weeks? I don't need two weeks of leave!" he protested, trying to rise on his elbows "Your Highness, I beg you to reconsider. I'll be fully recovered soon in any case; there is no reason for me to stay away two weeks after that. You're in danger, and-"

"While your worry for my well being is _moving_, General Alba, I hardly need to be reminded that," she said sharply, causing him to shut his mouth. "I will manage on my own. You're taking a leave because you have my order do so. There is something you can do for me, and you will do it, but there is no rush. I'll tell you the details once you're back. And before you protest again, I can tell you that this leave will be useful to what I have in mind – so you had better request the leave yourself. It must look like it was your own idea."

He frowned. "What is all of this about?"

Queen Luzula shook her head and patted his thigh lightly through the sheets before standing again. "All in due time. Now just do your best to recover, and enjoy your leave," she stared down at him "that is a order."

There was a moment of silence, then Quercus nodded – there had to be a good reason for her to ask him to leave in a critical moment such as that one. "In this case, I will ask for the leave. I wouldn't dare to defy Your Highness' orders."

She smirked. "That's wise of you, General Alba," she said, turning to the door and opening it before lingering in the doorway for a few more instants "I expect you to be fully recovered by the time you're back," she added without turning, then she stepped outside and closed the door softly behind herself.

* * *

><p>Some time after the queen's visit, when he was finally able to stand and walk without feeling dizzy and without his chest hurting as though it was being pierced again, Quercus did as she had said and asked for a leave. She hadn't visited him again nor had sent word to him, but he supposed there had to be a reason to that. By then, his worries concerning the queen's safety had been soothed: after that attack security around her was much tighter, the doctor had told him once, especially now that she was to give birth to what could be the heir to the Cohdopian throne any day.<p>

Quercus hadn't of course stopped wondering why she had insisted for him to ask for a leave, but it was clear there had to be a reason behind it; until then he would simply ignored his own curiosity… which was probably not going to be easy, considering that – as always – he had no idea to occupy his time while on leave.

Then again that didn't take so much thinking, did it? There was only one place where he could picture himself going when he wasn't on service, and only one person he'd feel like seeing. Give that she was still there: she hadn't seen nor heard her since the end of the civil war, and he knew that many small villages in the Babahlese region had emptied since then, its population moving into larger cities that were starting to develop on the western side of the region, closer to the Allebahstian one.

But with his powers as a general, checking didn't take him much: with one phone call he could request information on any Cohdopian citizen and receive it in a matter of days. He requested information on several other people from the village whose name he could remember, including one whose cousin had ties with the rebellion: if he only asked of her, someone might have asked questions. He didn't much care for gossip, but being careful never hurt.

So he had gathered, before even leaving, that she still lived there, just in another house: her husband had died months before in an accident inside a mine, and her sons had been living on their own for a while. He jotted down her new address, and bought a ticket for the first train heading to the village.

After so much time spent cooped up inside a room, however luxurious, watching the Cohdopian countryside unfolding on the other side of the train's window was almost a relief. As was finally getting to wear his uniform again: as a general he now could keep his uniform even while on leave, something lower ranks couldn't do. He had long since come to realize he was no longer comfortable in civilian clothing.

Still, he didn't want to draw any unwanted attention; that was why he decided to keep his cloak on over the uniform even though the whether was warm enough not to – and, by the time he was done walking from the station to Issoria's home, he was sweating and cursing under his breath. He stood in the shade for a few moments, trying to cool down as he took a look at her house. It was smaller than the previous one, but it looked newer, with fresh paint on the walls and a small garden around it, with a pine growing in it on one side and several potted plants growing on the other.

It looked like that now that she was living alone she took some time for herself; she had mentioned it to him that she would like to try gardening once she had some spare time, and for a moment Quercus found himself wondering if she'd have time for him now.

He frowned. The mere thought was somewhat unsettling, but it felt almost ridiculous – he was sure she would have time for him, she always did, and always would. He wasn't sure why she had taken such a liking on him, but he was certain of that one fact; hadn't she once said her door would always be open to him? Yes, she had, and she wasn't one to take her word back. His frown softened, and he finally walked up to the front door and, without allowing himself a moment's hesitation, knocked.

For a few moments no sound came from inside, and Quercus had just enough time to think that perhaps she wasn't home when the sounds of steps came from the other side of the door – much lighter and quicker steps that he would associate to a grown woman, actually – then the door opened and, for a moment, he saw no one.

Quercus blinked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, if he had fever again and hadn't realized it, then and impatient and somewhat interrogative babbling reached his ears, and he looked down to finally see who had just opened the door. And, once he did, he was certain he must have knocked at the wrong door. Still, as he took another look at the sheet where he had written the address, he realized there was no room for mistake: he was at the right address. He frowned and looked again down at the child, barely tall enough to reach the knob, who was staring up at him with wide green eyes beneath curly brown hair.

"Hello," he finally said "is your, um… is anyone home?" he asked. There had to be a reason why that child was there, after all. Was it a neighbour's child she looked after for some extra money? Yes, that had to be it: even though her children could now sustain themselves, she must have had a hard time after her husband had died, having lost her only source of income – and he doubted her sons could provide her with much, being only miners themselves. The thought made him feel mildly guilty, and he took a mental note of sending her some money from that moment on – he was now rich enough to sustain far more than just himself after all.

The child looked up at him somewhat fearfully and didn't reply, and Quercus was about to ask again – this time definitely less gently, for he hated having to repeat himself – when Issoria's voice reached his ears. "Who is it?"

Quercus looked up to see her coming up to the door; so did the child, and she immediately went to hide behind her gown before looking at him again, this time looking more curious than anything. Issoria's presence seemed to reassure her a great deal, Quercus noticed.

"I hope I'm not bothering," he heard himself saying, looking at her carefully. She didn't look quite as tired as she had been last time they had met and nowhere as frail; she seemed to be doing fine, though now there were a few more wrinkles around her eyes and a line on her forehead that wasn't there before.

"You never do. I'm glad to see you again, young old man," she said with a soft smile, and he found that old, foolish nickname – young old man – soothing beyond words, like resting in the shade after a long walk under the sun.

"I'm forty-two, and you still call me that?" he asked with a chuckle, then, "May I come in?"

"Of course."

Quercus stepped in and closed the door behind himself, finally taking a look around as he followed her in the next room. The house was maybe a little smaller than her old one, but it was cosy and tidy, and most likely more than enough for her alone.

"Sit down," Issoria gestured for him to sit at the small table in the middle of the kitchen, and he did, taking off his cloak "do you want some water?"

"Yes, thank you," Quercus replied before blinking as he noticed the child had let go of Issoria's gown and had approached. She was once again looking up at him, supporting herself on the edge of the chair he was sitting onto with one hand while the other one reached up for him. "What…?" he asked, shifting back. Now _that_ was quite a change of attitude. He fervently hoped she didn't want him to pick her up, or do anything equally foolish. The little girl giggled as he shifted and stood on her toes, still reaching up with a small hand.

"I'd like to say she likes you, but to be honest I think it's your medals she's after. Daphne likes shiny objects," Issoria said with a half-smile "like a magpie."

He frowned a little. "Daphne?" he repeated. How odd, an Allebahstian name for a child born in the Babahlese region from, he presumed, Babahlese parents: the civil war was barely over and there was still some resentment against the Allebahstian region when he had been there for the last time, little more than three years befo-

His train of thoughts abruptly stopped, his eyes widening slightly. He turned to glance at Issoria, who didn't seem at all surprised by his reaction. "Is she yours?" he demanded to know.

"Yes. She was a late child, and an unexpected one, but all the more treasured. She's two and a half. She was born in October," she added before he could even ask; she had to know what conclusion he was getting at.

October. Quercus quickly tried to recall in what month he had paid his last visit – not that it was difficult, for the civil war had barely finished, so it had to be January. And from January to October there were…

"Nine months," he murmured, his gaze falling on the child again before turning to Issoria "is she…?"

"Yours?" Issoria finished with a small chuckle "I couldn't tell, young old man. She could be either yours, or my husband's. He died only a few months ago. But I do think it's better for everyone if we agree she's his."

That was certainly something Quercus had to agree with – last thing he needed was being burdened with a child. Still, he glanced at her a little more carefully, trying to see something in her features that reminded him of himself, or anyone in his family. He found none, for she looked mostly like her mother, but what still unnerved him were the olive green eyes still looking up at him... and the freckles, perhaps – didn't his sisters have freckles? But so did a lot of people, after all. It probably meant nothing.

He eventually said nothing and just took off one of his medals, the very first one he had been given, to hand it to the child. She gave a delighted giggle and grabbed it, holding it up under the light to see it glistening. Quercus found himself smiling a little before turning to Issoria again. "I'll make sure to pay for her education. And your support, if you'll allow me."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," he cut her off, still looking at Daphne as she sat cross-legged on the ground to play with his medal, and she didn't argue any further.

"I suppose I should thank you, young old man," she said softly before sitting next to him, putting the glass of water on the table, but he didn't drink immediately – he reached out to pull her closer first, burrowing his face in the crook of her shoulder and inhaling deeply.

"Can I stay for a few days?" he finally asked, still holding her close.

"Of course," was her reply, and he felt one arm holding him back, her other hand running through his hair "you're a general now, are you not?"

"Yes," he murmured against her shoulder.

"And are you finally sated?"

A pause. "Not yet."

She sighed somewhat sadly. "I feared you'd say so. As I once told you, nothing you can achieve will ever truly be _enough_ for you."

He didn't argue on that point: that nothing he could obtain would be enough in face of what he had lost was a simple fact. "But I could come close enough to that someday," was all he said, shutting his eyes, and Issoria held him back "don't you think I could?"

Another pause, longer than the previous one. "I hope you will," she finally said, and neither moved nor spoke for a while.


	10. Daphne

_A/N: holy shit, university really did take over my life these past weeks. __Damn exams, getting in the way of fun._ :P _It made it impossible for me to finish writing a new chapter (okay, that, and the fact that I just got interested in another fandom and am currently writing stuff for that, too), so I shouldn't be updating this week, but I didn't want to let too much time pass between the last update and this one. I'll try to write a couple more chapters or so in the next couple of weeks, so that I can update again in two weeks at most._

* * *

><p>"Perhaps I should start paying you for this, young old man."<p>

Quercus chuckled at Issoria's comment before standing up straight and wiping some sweat off his forehead with a forearm, his hands having too much dirt on them to. "Considering that it's a task I took upon myself without being asked, it would hardly be fair," he said with a shrug, his gaze wandering through the garden. "I am almost done for today. I only have to move the gardenia shrub out of the vase: it's getting too large to fit in it."

While he was far from a gardening expert – all he knew was from the memories he had of his mother as she took care of their garden back home, memories he always hesitated to consciously recall – he had been looking after Issoria's garden for the past week. After the first several days he had started getting restless, and the thought of occupying his time with gardening had occurred to him one evening, while taking notice of the fact that several of the potted plants had grown too much for their vases and needed to be transplanted to the soft soil of the garden. Before he knew it he was taking care of it himself, even going as far as actually buying more plants for the garden.

It was only meant to keep himself busy until he was to return to service – the days he'd be comfortable with just lazing all day were far gone – but it turned out to be almost soothing.

"You certainly are taking this seriously," Issoria commented with a chuckle as she handed him a glass of water, which he drank in few seconds "it is a lot of work."

Quercus shrugged, returning the glass. "It's not that much of a hard work, and I have time to get it done. Besides, it looks like I have a more than eager assistant," he added, meaningfully glancing at the spot where he was planning to transplant the gardenia shrub – Daphne was still there, digging in the soft soil.

Once she had overcome her initial fear – Quercus suspected the medal he had given her had a hand in it – she had started following him pretty much everywhere he went. It had amused him at first, but once he started working on the garden it had turned out to be a bother, and after the sixth time he almost tripped on her because she keep following him close in silence he had snapped at her to at least make herself useful if she really _had_ to follow him everywhere.

He hadn't really expected to take his words seriously, but she had: the moment he was done snapping she had ran back inside – for a moment he had thought he had managed to scare her off – to come back holding a watering can and with a hopeful look on her freckled little face, a look that felt so unsettlingly _familiar_ that he had found himself staring at her for several moments before he understood that she wanted to water the plants, too.

"If you're so inclined," he had finally said, turning away from her, and she had given a little shriek of joy before running to fill the can with water. If anything, Quercus had thought, it was proof that she did understand what she was told: considering how silent she was, sometimes he wondered whether or not she even understood what she heard.

She was actually a smart child, he had come to realize after that, and she could recognize quite a few words – enough to understand most of what he said. She simply preferred staying silent and observing. And, if given the chance, she apparently liked gardening, too.

"She likes you."

Quercus blinked and turned to look at Issoria. "Excuse me?"

She nodded in Daphne's direction. "She usually isn't this bold with strangers," she explained "she doesn't do anything in their presence, she just observes. And she usually plays alone. I think you're the first one who gets her into doing anything along with someone she doesn't know well."

Not like his sister, Quercus mused, and the thought came as a relief – Laurie hadn't been like that: she had been bold and sociable and a real chatterbox, not at all silent, shy or withdrawn. "I suppose she simply likes gardening," he finally said with a shrug "I doubt it has anything to do with me at all."

Issoria raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical, but she didn't argue. "In either case, she's having a good time. And you look less restless, too. Had I know gardening would have a such effect on you, I would have suggested it sooner," she reached to wipe off some dirt from his cheek before turning to get back inside "I think I'll leave you two to your gardenia shrub."

As he watched her walking back inside the house Quercus felt a pang of something he couldn't define right away – a mixture of worry and longing and actual fear – at the realization of how _normal_ that scene would seem to any casual observer, how familiar, how homey… and, some restlessness aside, he was starting to feel dangerously comfortable with it.

Issoria's presence had always made him feel home, but that was different: he would feel like that for only few fleeting minutes or hours or days with the knowledge it was just a moment, a parenthesis in what was the life he had chosen for himself; never before he had found himself indulging in the thought it could last, never before he had found himself thinking, even for one moment, that he could stay if so he chose.

Stay.

Stay, and leave the army.

Stay, and have something close to a family.

Stay, and take back what had been taken away from him.

Stay, and give up on all he had achieved, all he had fought for, all the power he had gained.

Stay, and be once again a worthless peasant, expendable and with no control over anything or anyone.

Quercus shut his eyes tightly and clenched his jaw. No, _never_. No matter how comfortable that kind of life could seem now, how safe and fulfilling – he knew that in the long run it would leave him unsatisfied and regretful, regretful of having given up certain power for something that could be taken from him any moment. And he had worked too much to even consider the idea of giving up on all that. How could he even think about it? He must have gone insane, or-

Quercus was snapped from his thoughts by a sudden tugging at his trousers – trousers that were of course not those of his uniform, for he had no intention to dirt it with soil. He looked down to see the child looking up at him and yanking at the fabric with one small, dirt-covered hand. The other was pointing at the hole she had dug for the transplant of the gardenia shrub, a hole that now looked deep enough to house the shrub's roots. Her face was gleaming with pride, and there was something expecting in her expression – was she expecting a praise?

"It looks good," he said approvingly, though avoiding to look at her and only staring at the hole she had dug "it should be deep enough. You can go back inside, I'll take care of the rest myse-" he trailed off as she tugged at his trousers again, this time a little more forcefully. He looked down to see she was frowning a little, green eyes darkening.

"What is it?" he asked.

She stared. There were a few stains of soil on her face, and her clothes and hair were a mess – she was going to need a bath, that was for sure.

"Do you want to stay and see how to transplant the shrub?"

Daphne smiled and nodded. Quercus sighed.

"If you have to," he said before walking up to the vase where the shrub was, which had been left close to the hole. He crouched next to it before examining it closely. "We can't take it out the vase without breaking most of the roots," he mumbled, more to himself than to her "it's grown in it too much. We'll have to break the vase," he looked up to see she was crouching in front of him, silent as always "do you understand what I'm saying?"

Daphne looked at him for a few moments, as though she was trying to decide whether or not she could trust him to know that, then she nodded.

"Good. I'll need a hammer. Do you know what a hammer is?" he asked, making the gesture of hitting the vase as though he had a hammer in his hand.

Another nod, and a moment later the little girl was running off, inside the house. Quercus turned to glance at the entrance, and only moments later she came back in the garden holding a hammer with both hands – and with some difficulties, he noticed with an inward chuckle. "That's quite heavy for such a little girl," he pointed out, reaching out to take it.

She puffed out her chest as though she had just received some great praise, then she looked back down at the vase. Her hand reached up for her face, her thumb upwards, and opened her mouth.

"Don't," Quercus said instinctively, and he cleared his throat at the confused look Daphne gave him, her thumb lingering a few inches from her mouth. "Don't put that in your mouth," Quercus clarified "it's dirty. You should wash your hands first," he added, suddenly feeling like a damn baby-sitter. The memory of how he had once said the same thing to his sister when she was about Daphne's age and he wasn't even fifteen made it back in his mind for just a moment, causing him to bite his lower lip.

The child looked at her hand, to the house and then back at him before glancing at the gardenia shrub. She frowned as though trying to decide what she should do.

"I'll wait for you to be back before I do this," Quercus finally said with a sigh, putting down the hammer "just be quick."

He kept his gaze fixed on the plant while he listened to her steps as she ran back inside, a scowl on his face. He hated it how he kept being reminded of his sister like that, _hated_ it. Laureola was long since gone, as was the rest of their family – like their father, and their mother, and Eclipta. They were all gone, and in time he had realized he was… forgetting. Not forgetting them, never that, but he was forgetting _things_, he was forgetting what they had exactly been like. The few times he tried he had trouble recalling what his mother voice had been like, what obnoxious jokes his father used to crack when in a good mood, what his older sister's laughter had sounded like. He supposed it was normal, after trying to forget for over twenty years.

But not Laureola, not little Laurie. Her, he could never forget. Not a thing.

For the second time in mere minutes, Quercus was snapped from his thoughts by someone tugging at his clothes – this time at his shirt. He turned to see Daphne standing next to him again, hands and face now cleaned of most of the dirt, her freckles perfectly visible once more. Those freckles, Quercus thought. Exactly like Laurie, who had freckles on her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose, too. And then there were the eyes, the same olive green eyes he saw staring back at him from the mirror every morning.

_She might be mine. Is she?_

Quercus shook his head, trying to chase away the thought. Whether or not she was his wasn't relevant, after all – he simply could not be burdened with a child, nor Issoria could tell anyone he could be her father without admitting she had cheated on her husband. He was going to pay for her education and support in any case. It would be enough.

"Do you _have_ to yank at my clothes?" he finally asked, reaching down to take the hammer "calling me would be a less aggravating way to get my attention. You can speak, can't you?"

The child hesitated for a moment, then she nodded.

"Then speak instead of tugging away at people's clothes. Does it seem such a bad idea to you?"

Daphne stared, then she shook her head and tugged at his shirt again. Quercus frowned in annoyance. "Do you have fun doing that?" he asked coldly.

Another shake of her head.

"Then what is it?"

She stared, reaching up to put her thumb – now passably clean – in her mouth.

"Don't you like talking?"

She tilted her head on one side, still looking at him intently, and a sudden thought occurred to him. "Do you _know_ what my name is?" he asked slowly, wondering why hadn't he thought that first: he had never taken the time to introduce himself, and he was certain Issoria had never called him by name. She immediately shook her head, her gaze brightening. She looked rather happy to see that the big idiot she was dealing with had finally realized what the problem was, he mused before replying.

"I'm General-" he trailed off – what could a rank mean to her after all? – and stayed silent for a moment before speaking again "I'm Quercus," he just said in the end. Daphne pulled her thumb out of her mouth and narrowed her eyes, focusing, and she seemed to be mouthing something.

"Quercus," he repeated slowly.

She stared at him for a few more moments, her little forehead scrunched in concentration. "Kwer-koos," she finally said somewhat hesitantly, her voice sounding a lot like an instrument that hadn't been used for a long time, which didn't surprise him: it was the first time since when he had met her that she had actually tried to speak rather than just emitting meaningless sounds.

He nodded. "Close enough. Now let's get this done," he added, turning his attention back to the vase. He raised his hand, the one with the hammer, and hit the vase. There was a loud crack, the terracotta vase breaking in two right away. One half fell on the ground immediately, while the other needed to be forcefully yanked off – it took Quercus some effort to do that. When he managed and put the second broken piece on the ground, he noticed that Daphne was looking at the broken pieces with a slight frown.

"What is it?" he asked. She looked up at him somewhat accusingly, and Quercus almost groaned – what did she expect? He had _told_ her it would have to be broken, he had even had her bringing him the hammer. "It had to be done," he said, gesturing to the roots – they were so entangled it was impossible telling one root from the other, and they had taken the form of the vase the plant had grown into "sometimes you need to break the vase for the plant to grow. Now, how about just planting it? You certainly haven't dug all this time for nothing."

The disapproving look vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, and she nodded eagerly.

"Good." Quercus rose and stretched his back for a moment before reaching to grab the shrub. "Now I'll lean it in the hole and keep it upright, and you throw earth in until it covers the roots. Can you do that?"

Another eager nod. Quercus lifted the scrub and leant it inside the hole. "Here. Now… no, not with your hands," he stopped her "it would take you too much. Use that," he added, nodding toward a small garden shovel on the ground "us it to push the earth inside."

Daphne needed a little more instructions along the way – the first few attempts resulted with more soil landing on Quercus' boots than it fell in the hole, something that made him curse under his breath a couple of times – but in the end the hole was mostly filled, and he could let go of the gardenia shrub. He took a step back to take a good look and nodded. "It looks good," he said, some satisfaction showing in his voice. It was a far cry from winning a battle, of course, but there was still the satisfaction of a work well done. He walked around the plant and knelt to press down the earth covering the roots, and it was with mild amusement that he noticed the child was imitating him, pressing the soil with her own tiny hands.

"I think we've done enough for today. Not to mention I hear there are laws against children labour," Quercus finally said, standing again "and you need a bath."

"You're dirty, too."

Quercus blinked as her voice – still sounding everything like a rarely-used instrument – reached his ears, this time sounding somewhat accusing. He looked down to see the child staring up at him somewhat… challengingly? "So you _can_ speak actual words," he muttered.

Daphne looked up at him for a few more moments, as though trying to decide whether his observation deserved or not an answer, then she clearly decided it didn't, for she just shrugged and scurried off to get back inside the house.

Quercus stared at her going with a baffled look on his face before he focused on recollecting the tools he had left on the ground, trying with all his might not to think who her challenging attitude had reminded him of for just one moment.

* * *

><p>While later one there would be a part of his mind that would find it rather amusing, as he tossed and turned to find a comfortable position to sleep Quercus was far from appreciating the irony of the fact he had managed to kill an assassin after having a dagger plunged in his chest only to pull a muscle while <em>gardening<em>. Issoria, on the other hand, wasn't even trying to hide her amusement.

"It seems like gardening can be worse than fighting a battle," he heard her saying in the dark, not far from his left ear "perhaps you shouldn't have worked so hard, young old man."

He growled. "And perhaps you shouldn't call me that anymore," he muttered irritably "ten years ago I wouldn't have pulled any muscle at all."

She laughed, and reached out to pull him closer. Quercus didn't protest and just leant on her, head resting on her breast. "I'm not getting any younger either, young old man," she said fondly, her hand reaching to rub the sore spot on his back "but some things don't change. That's still your favourite place to rest your head, I see."

Quercus gave a slight mumbling noise as a response, still resting his head on her chest. "There," was all he said as her fingers pressed into just the right place on his back. She chuckled and kept going with the kneading, something she clearly had done more than once – no wonder, since she had been married to a miner.

"Better?"

He gave a sigh of relief, eyes half-closed in bliss. "Yes."

"I'm glad. I hope you're done with gardening, young old man. Or at least that from now you'll turn your attention to potted plants only," she said, amusement showing in her voice again.

Quercus snorted a little. "Oh, ha-ha," he said dryly, but he did add, "I'm almost done in any case. There is very little left to do."

"I suppose that's convenient, considering you also have little time to do it," she said quietly, her other hand now running through his hair "your leave is almost over, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Only three days left, but I'll make it two. I want to be back in Allebahst a little sooner to see what the situation is before I return to service."

"I see," she fell silent for a few moments, her hand stopping his kneading, then, "be careful, young old man."

"I will be. I'm not looking forward to ridding certain people of my presence," he smirked in the dark "you included."

Issoria stroked his hair again. "You know your presence will always be welcomed here," she said softly. She was silent for a few moments, then, "Daphne truly likes you, you know. Did she speak to you?"

"A few words."

"That's unusual. She never speaks to anyone she doesn't know very, very well."

"She used said words to tell me I was filthy," he pointed out.

That made her chuckle. "Well, if it was after caring for the garden, she was being truthful. Regardless, she spoke to you, and she wanted to spend time around you."

"I simply arose her curiosity."

"So do many people, and she only observes there from afar. Is it that difficult thinking she might just like being around you?"

A long silence followed. "Tell me one thing," he finally spoke again against his better judgement "is it true that you can't tell whose daughter she is?"

The hand stroking his hair stopped moving. "Why are you asking, young old man?" she asked "you said-"

"I haven't changed my mind; it will be for the best if she keeps being considered your husband's," he cut her off "and whatever the answer is, I'll still pay for her support and education," he added, though knowing it wasn't that to make her hesitate "but I want to know if you really cannot tell."

Another pause, then, "No, young old man. I truly cannot tell. She mostly takes after my family, so not even her looks could help."

He bit his lower lip. "She has green eyes. You don't. Did your husband…?"

"No, he didn't. But my mother did; they could come from her as well."

"I see."

Issoria resumed stroking his hair. "She has very little of you, young old man. But…" she seemed to hesitate before she went on "she truly has nothing of my husband."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. But that's hardly proof."

Quercus nodded, remembering how he looked nothing like either of his parents, too – he took everything after a grandfather, apparently… nose included, as his sisters loved to remind him at any occasion they got. He chased away the memory. "No, it's not proof," he finally said slowly "I don't need any, in any case. It doesn't matter."

There was actually a corner of his mind that didn't agree, that wanted to _know_, but he did a good job at ignoring it.

He had become good at repressing both unwanted memories and uncomfortable thoughts.

* * *

><p>After spending so much time tending at the garden with civilian clothes on – he was not going to dirt his uniform with soil – wearing his uniform again felt remarkably good, though it was not a real relief like it had been other times; Quercus supposed that was because tending the garden had kept him occupied enough not to pause and feel uncomfortable in civilian clothing.<p>

Still, as he buttoned it up, he frowned as he noticed something was missing – one of his medals, the very first one he had received. It took him a few moments to remember why it wasn't there: he had given it to the child the same day he had arrived, after she had been trying to reach for his medals for a while. He supposed he should take it back, given that the child hadn't lost it.

She hadn't, though, that much was clear as soon as he stepped downstairs: Issoria was there trying to convince a rather reluctant Daphne to give back the medal she was holding.

"Daphne, that isn't yours," she was saying gently "and you know you can't take things that aren't yours, don't you?"

The child pouted, but she eventually reached up to put the medal in her mother's outstretched hand, looking everything like she was giving up on her food for the week. Quercus chuckled, catching their attention.

"Young old man," Issoria greeted him, handing him his medal "here, this is yours."

"I'm quite aware of that," he said, taking it from her hand and looking down at it. It was perfectly taken care of and shone like it had the day it had been appointed to his chest, over twenty years before. Good Lord, had it really been so long? "She can keep it," he heard himself saying.

Issoria blinked. "She can?" she repeated "but it is one of your-"

"It truly doesn't matter. I can easily obtain a perfect copy until I take this back," he said, getting a rather curious look from her – she knew how treasured each of his medals was – but she said nothing as she watched him sinking on one knee to give the medal back to Daphne, telling her that he expected her to have good care of it until he came back.

The child's gaze brightened, whether at getting back the shiny medal or at his mention of coming back he truly couldn't tell, and he supposed it was better that way. Quercus reached out to ruffle her hair somewhat clumsily – over twenty years since last time he had done that to Laurie, he thought – before standing again.

"I should get going," he heard himself saying "or I'll miss the train."

Daphne frowned, and he found himself turning back to Issoria to avoid her gaze. "I'll visit again," he said.

Issoria smiled. "I'm sure you will."

* * *

><p>During his leave, Quercus had had very little contacts with the world outside the village. He had known that the queen had given birth a week after he took leave – that kind of information was hard not to hear from at least someone, no matter where he was – to twins, a boy and a girl. Cohdopia had its new Crown Princess.<p>

Once he came back, he was filled in with some more information. Mother and children were fine, but the labour had been long and the birthing hadn't been easy, and the queen needed to rest. Quercus was relieved to know Queen Luzula was fine – her death would have meant disaster for him as things were – and assumed that her need for rest was the reason why, for the first few weeks since when he had returned from his leave, she didn't once require his presence.

Still, the more time passed, the odder that silence from her seemed to him: word was that she had fully recovered, and she even appeared in public a couple of times. And when, two months after his return, she showed at the Council once to hear from one of the generals the updates on the situation on the border with Borginia – not even once glancing in his direction throughout the ordeal – he knew there had to be another reason why she wouldn't require his presence. But why wouldn't she? She had told him she had a plan, a plan that involved him. She had told him to take that leave before she explained him the details, and he had obeyed; now being ignored like that infuriated him to no end.

The last straw was only days after the meeting at the Council, when after dining with General Durandii – he was an idiot and was hardly good at anything, but he was a well-meaning man and Quercus thought he could turn that to his advantage if he stayed in friendly terms with him – he actually met her walking in the opposite direction through the yard, surrounded by her guards. Quercus immediately sank on one knee as it was custom, and the queen walked right past him without giving any sign of having noticed him at all.

When he stood again Quercus was livid, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, feeling more furious and humiliated than he could remember ever feeling. He had saved that wretched witch's life, led the troops to victory more than once and won the civil war before things could take a turn for the worse – how _dare_ she ignore him as though he were some unimportant fool, some… some _pawn_ to move across a chessboard to be thrown away when no longer necessary?

Quercus gritted his teeth so hard that his gums hurt, fighting back the urge to do something utterly stupid he would most certainly regret. He finally turned away and was about to storm out of the yard when he realized that someone was looking at him from the stairway leading to the entrance of the palace – High General Vulneraria. Even from that distance Quercus could see the inquisitive and somewhat smug look he was giving him, and he realized that he had let his anger and frustration show too clearly.

He cursed under his breath and tore his gaze away from the man, marching away – and even as he left he could feel his gaze on his back, as cold and calculating as the anger boiling in his chest was hot and bitter and barely in check.

His fury was still far from soothed that night, and it kept him from falling asleep; which was why he immediately heard the sound of something being slid under his door. He immediately sat upright and switched on the light to see a white envelope sticking from under the door. "What is it?" he murmured to the empty room before getting up. The moment he took it he knew there was more than just paper inside – it was too heavy to contain only a letter… and as he turned it to take a better look, he saw it had the royal seal on it. Could it be from…?

Quercus tore the envelope open, and something fell from it – a thin gold coin with Queen Luzula's effigy on it, which looked larger than any other coin in the Cohdopian currency… probably a celebrative piece, he thought before taking the folded sheet of paper from the envelope and unfolding it, squinting to read in the faint light.

_Come to my quarters tomorrow night at eleven. Don't let anyone see you. The guards at the entrance are trustworthy. Show them the coin, and they will let you in._

That was all the letter said, no signature or anything like that showing, but that wasn't necessary: Quercus could easily recognize Queen Luzula's handwriting. He sat on the edge of the bed and took the coin again to look at it thoughtfully, his thumb brushing over her effigy while he wondered what could be the reason of such secrecy. He supposed there had to be a reason for it – was that the reason the same why she hadn't even looked in his direction for the past two months?

Oh well, he thought, there was only one way to find out.


	11. Cloak and Dagger Politics

Walking through the palace at night without being spotted was easy, almost suspiciously so; Quercus was almost certain the queen had made sure most of the guards would be busy with something different from patrolling around that time. Before long he was standing in front of the heavy wooden door that led to Queen Luzula's quarters, and in front of four armed guards that stared back at him carefully.

"What is your reason to be here?" one of them asked.

Quercus said nothing: he simply reached into his pocket to pull out the gold coin he had been told to show them. The closest guard reached to take it, looked at him again, and nodded before turning to the others. "Let him through. Her Highness requested his presence. No, no need to," he added as he saw Quercus reaching to get the decorative sword off himself to hand it to them "it is Her Highness' order that you're allowed to carry it wherever you like in the palace unless there's a director order from her for you to leave it behind. She said it would have helped you a great deal having it with you when that assassin attacked."

Quercus stared at them in surprise for just a few moments before recovering. "I'm humbled by Her Highness' trust," he finally said before nodding at the guards and stepping through the now open door, which was immediately closed behind him.

He had never been into the queen's quarters before, and hadn't he been used to the luxury of the palace he would have probably been taken aback by the marble, the fine tapestry and carpets and high ceilings covered with carved wood. He was at the beginning of a short hallways, with a number of doors – all made of carved wood with the Cohdopian national symbol – on both sides, and a larger one at the end of the hallway.

For a few moments he just stood there, the queen nowhere to be seen, unsure of what he should do – should he call out or look for her, or just wait? – then a door on his left opened, and he turned to see Queen Luzula looking at him with an amused half-smile, barefoot and with a dressing gown in place of the royal garments he had always seen her into. Her dark hair wasn't tied back nor held in place by golden pins and elaborated jewellery, but it was let loose on her shoulders in soft curls. Her eyes were so black that it was hard telling irises and pupils apart, and cold as always.

"It's rather unusual seeing you unsure on what you should do," she said, an amused note in her voice – whether it was at his uncertainty only moments before or at the bewildered look he was giving her now, he couldn't tell.

"Your Highness," he finally greeted her as he sank on one knee, rather grateful of the fact formalities allowed him to know what he should do right then.

"Rise," she said almost immediately "I didn't have you summoned here to look at my carpets."

Quercus rose. "May I ask, then, what was I summoned for?" he asked.

She tilted her head on one side. "That's quite a cold greeting after so much time."

"It's no colder than the one you reserved to me," Quercus retorted before he could stop himself "if not acknowledging one's presence counts as a greeting."

He half-expected her to frown, or to deny having ignored him and challenge him to accuse her of lying, but she did neither – she only chuckled. "It got under your skin, did it not? You were especially livid yesterday. "

Quercus frowned. "So you noticed," he said quietly, not really knowing what to think of that little act. Why would she pretend not to notice his presence if she was actually observing him?

"Well, I'll admit it was hard to miss," she said with a slight shrug, finally dropping the arms she had kept folded over her chest, and a part of Quercus' mind immediately registered that the dressing gown showed more of her creamy skin than he had ever seen "everyone in the yard noticed your anger. And, most importantly, so did the High General."

The memory of High General Vulneraria smugly looking at him the previous day in the yard made Quercus clench his fists. "The High General?" he repeated slowly "are you saying you wanted him to…?"

"See you furious at me, yes. Oh, don't look at me like that," the queen smirked "you may be a good actor, but he's no fool and I couldn't take risks. You needed to look convincing. And what's more convincing of someone frustrated and angered beyond words for being ignored by the ungrateful monarch whose life he saved at risk of his own? What better reason to harbour grudge against me?"

Quercus stared at him for a few moments, an idea of what that could have been about finally starting to form in his mind, but he didn't voice his thoughts yet. "I'm not sure I understand, Your Highness. You want the High General to believe I harbour grudge against you? Why?"

She didn't reply right away. "I grow tired of standing. It was a long day, and I need to sit down. Come inside," she added, turning to walk back inside the room she had walked out from.

Quercus followed her expecting to walk inside a study, perhaps a lounge – and he stopped on his tracks as he realized it was her bedchamber he was into, a bedchamber luxurious enough to put to shame the room where he had stayed throughout his recovery from the assassin's attack. The only source of light was the fire that was crackling in the large fireplace on the far end of the room.

"Is something the matter, General?" she asked, sitting on one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace and gesturing for him to sit on the one in front of hers.

Quercus was tempted to ask her what part of talking to the queen of Cohdopia at night in her bedchamber while she wore nothing but a dressing gown was _not_ the matter, but he decided against it – for now he only wanted to know what the reason of the treatment he had been receiving since his return was. "It's nothing, Your Highness," was all he said as he went to sit on the armchair as well. Still, he couldn't will himself to lean back and sat up straight, his back rigid.

"Is it? You certainly don't look at ease," she observed, the smirk back on her lips.

He clenched his jaw. "I'm simply impatient to know why it was so important that the High General would think I have a grudge against you."

"Oh, I'm sure you're starting to understand why, too, even if you're trying not to admit it yet. As I told you before you took your leave, while I know the High General and those around him are most likely to be the ones who helped the assassin to make it to the core of the palace, I have no proof at all against him. And not only about this – what he wants to keep from me, he _can_ keep from me. He had enough time, both during my mother's rule and my father's regency, to get himself connections and resources not even I can figure out. This has to end. And to do that, I'll need someone to get close enough to him. Someone whose loyalty to me I'm certain of. You, General Alba," she said, her lips curling in a smile "we have already established that you have all interest in reserving your loyalty to me, and you're not one to act against your own interest."

That, Quercus thought, was indeed above doubt. "I'm not. So what you want is that I pretend to be having second thoughts on where my loyalty should lie so that the High General may try to get me on his side."

"Precisely. You're popular among the troops, far more than Vulneraria himself; that's why he'll want to have you under his thumb. You could have access to much information that way. Of course, it will be a huge risk. One slip, and it might be the end of you."

"I'll be able to handle it, Your Highness. I will not fail."

"I hope you have as much patience as confidence, General Alba. The mission ahead of you will take time, patience, and good acting skills. Vulneraria is no fool. This is the reason why I ordered you to ask for leave – taking two weeks of leave when your ruler's life has been so closely threatened hardly screams 'loyalty', don't you think? – and ignored you until you were so frustrated everyone could tell you were furious at me. I needed the start of this little game to be… convincing."

Quercus frowned a little at the thought of all the anger and frustration he had to feel for the past two months. "It certainly was convincing to me, Your Highness."

"Oh, I noticed," she leant forward a little, and Quercus found himself staring at her as the flickering flames in the fireplace cast deep shadows on her face, her eyes suddenly looking less cold than they usually were "you must have hated me."

"Your Highness, I could never-"

"Don't lie to me, Alba," she said sharply, leaving out his rank for the first time.

A moment of silence followed, then, "I did."

"Have you regretted saving my life?"

Another silence. Their gazes locked and held, her dark eyes silently challenging him to answer to that, and he took the challenge. "Yes."

"Do you now?"

"No."

A nod. "Kneel."

He obeyed her order as though in a daze, eyes shut and head lowered, but after only a moment one of her hands – it was small and soft and cool, like when she had brushed his hair back after he had been wounded by the assassin – reached under his chin to tilt up his face, and he opened his eyes to meet hers again.

"How can I be certain, then," she whispered, her face so close to his that he could feel her warm breath against his lips "that you haven't already chosen to turn your back to me?"

"Because I need you," Quercus found himself replying, unable to tear his gaze away "and you need me, Your Highness. I need your support just as much as you need my help now."

A smirk curled her lips. "You're an arrogant man, General Alba."

"I simply know where we both stand."

"Oh, do you?"

"Your Highness can of course correct me if I'm wrong," he retorted, and he wasn't surprised in the slightest when she pressed her lips on his for a few instants in what was little more than a soft brush.

"You never know when to keep quiet, General," she whispered against his lips.

"I only know when I can push and when I cannot," he murmured as a response, their mouths still so close that he would have only needed to tilt his head slightly for them to be joined again.

"And how far do you think you can push me this time?"

That challenging tone again – but this time it wasn't with words that Quercus would answer. He lifted his head instead, and their mouths were joined again in more than just a brush. Her hand grasped his hair tightly, painfully, but she didn't tug or try to push him away: it was him to finally pull back, and he looked up at her to see her eyes were half-closed, lips still parted and usually pale skin slightly flushed.

"Have I pushed you too far, Your Highness?" he asked hoarsely.

She smirked down at him. "If you had, you'd be dead," she said softly, letting something fall from the sleeve of her dressing gown on the ground with a clatter – a long, thin dagger. Quercus stared for a few moments at the decorated golden handle and steel blade glistening in the flickering light of the fireplace, then he chuckled breathlessly.

"I'm glad my estimation was correct, then."

"You should be," Queen Luzula said before rising form her armchair "stand."

Quercus stood, but made no other move, all his senses telling him he was not to push her now. She seemed satisfied with his decision and reached out to put her hands on his chest, smirking at the small shudder he could not entirely hide. Her hand rested on the place where the assassin's dagger had pierced his flesh, barely above the heart. "You, General, have the devil's own luck," she muttered.

"I cannot deny that. But I think we both had luck on our side that day."

"True enough," she commented before reaching for the pin that kept his cloak in place and removing it. He stood there, unmoving, while she let the cloak slide off his shoulders and then went to unbutton his uniform. She opened his jacket and shirt and ran her hands over his chest, pulling back a little to glance at the scars on him as though she had never seen anything like that before – and she probably hadn't, he realized.

"Do you remember," she was asking, a sly smirk curling her lips as she traced his most recent, still fresh scar "what you told me the first time I told you to show me your scars, sixteen years ago?"

He remembered. "I told you that your father probably wouldn't have appreciated it if I took my shirt off in front of you," he said, a small chuckle escaping him "and I'm rather sure he still wouldn't. Nor would a lot of people. I daresay we're in a most inappropriate situation."

Queen Luzula shrugged. "Having second thoughts, General? Why would you? I thought you had no family of any kind, nor the desire to start one. Didn't you tell me so yourself?" she asked, tilting up her face so that she could look straight into his olive green eyes "or were you lying to me, General Alba? Are there ties I'm unaware of?"

For the briefest moment he thought back of a village at the outskirts of the Babahlese region, of a woman who would never call him by name and a child whose eyes were uncomfortably similar to his own, but he pushed the thought away. He and Issoria rarely met at all, in the rare occasions he took a leave or would happen to be in the area, with no commitment for either of them… and he couldn't even tell whether the child she had last was his or not. He shook his head. "No, I didn't. I have no family, nor ties. But Your Highness does," he added, deliberately pushing her.

She scoffed. "My consort will never even come close to me again," she said, some contempt showing in her voice "he fulfilled his role when he gave me a daughter, and I have no further use for him. He'll live a comfortable life in another palace and I will live mine as this country's ruler – changing ancient laws that have no place in this world anymore," she added, her gaze darkening, and Quercus knew it was no coincidence that neither of her children had been betrothed to any noble's spawn upon birth as it was custom.

"Yes, I suppose that's a rule that truly had to go," he said before smiling a little "I guess I should hope I won't give you any reason to think I'm no longer useful to you."

The queen reached to run her hand through his hair. "You're a competent soldier, and could someday make a fine politician. Stay loyal to me, and I'll always have a use for you," she said, and he had no time to reply anything, because she reached up to grab his hair again and yank his head down, and an instant later their mouths were joined again. Quercus returned the vicious kiss, somewhat light-headed at the warmth of her lean body against his through the fabric of the gown, and reached around her to pull her closer – but he still didn't dare to press his luck by holding her tightly. She didn't seem to appreciate that hesitation, for she immediately broke the kiss.

"Last thing I need is being treated yet again like a porcelain doll," she hissed against his lips, and Quercus immediately covered her mouth with his again, his grip around her tightening, roughening, his right hand tangling in her hair and his other arm holding her tightly enough to steal her breath and probably leave bruises on her pale skin. They were both gasping when she pulled back once more to stare up at him, black eyes heated, and it took him a few moments to realize she was challenging him – again – into seeing how far he could go.

It was fine with him: he liked trying his luck, seeing how far he could push. Quercus smirked and reached for the sash around her waist, and moments later her dressing gown slid on the floor without making a noise.

* * *

><p>The duties of a ruler start early in the morning, so Queen Luzula certainly wasn't one to oversleep. But a soldier she had never been, so when Quercus awoke at the crack of dawn she was still deep in her sleep. He didn't truly mind: on the contrary, he was glad of that opportunity of observing her while she wasn't aware of his gaze. Not that he could see that much of her face since she was resting her head on his chest, but once he carefully brushed her hair aside he could see that she looked a lot more peaceful when asleep, and younger, the sneer gone from her face and cold black eyes closed.<p>

She looked… human, almost vulnerable, so much more now than she had looked even when he had seen her for the first time from afar so many years before, when he was only a young man and she was nothing but a child. Still, he knew she was far from vulnerable: he knew that once her eyelids opened he would stare in eyes that were as dark and cold as long-dead embers, that her tongue – soft and warm and even gentle against his own when so she wished – could cut deeper than a blade, and that beneath the long black hair his fingers were tangled into there was the calculating, steel-trap mind of a politician.

And yet, he thought, that cold and calculating creature was currently sleeping, defenceless, in the arms of a man she knew could kill her with his bare hands and virtually no effort. But maybe it was yet another proof of how well she knew that he had nothing to gain and everything to lose from her death. Yes, that had to be it: she didn't trust _him_ as much as she trusted the need he had of her support.

"Would you have ever thought you'd make it this far, General?" her voice snapped him from his musings. He looked back down at her to see she was still resting her head on his chest, eyes shut, but now there was a sly smile on her lips. How long had she been awake? Had she awakened when he had brushed her hair aside?

"Your Highness?"

"You heard me," she said before shifting enough to lean her head on his shoulder and reaching to trace abstract patters on his chest and stomach with her fingers "would you have imagine you'd come so far, from the barracks to the Queen's bedchamber?"

In his mind Quercus scoffed, and for a moment he was almost tempted to point out how he considered the position, power and prestige he had obtained a far higher achievement – but of course, he wasn't stupid enough to say anything like that to her. "No, Your Highness. I never expected nor imagined anything like this. It came as a complete surprise, to be honest."

She chuckled, her breath warm against the side of his neck. "A surprise, you say? It seems there are some matters you're no better at than most other men. I suppose it's a good thing I decided to be straightforward."

"I cannot say I have any reason to complain, Your Highness."

"Is there any other answer you'd dare to give?" she asked, propping herself on an elbow to look down at him, some amusement in her eyes "I have nothing to attend to for another hour. A rare occurrence. You should feel lucky," she said, "or honored, if you're arrogant enough to think I rearranged my agenda for you," she added, reaching to stroke his chest again "are you, General Alba?"

He shook his head, looking up at her for a few moments before he decided to try his luck and reached up to brush a lock of her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. She didn't seem to mind. "I wouldn't dare to think that for an instant, Your Highness," he said.

The queen laughed. "Liar," she said before turning her gaze back to the scars on his chest and stomach "you truly are used to escape death. Tell me how you got them."

Quercus partly sat up, leaning his back against the bedpost, to glance at his own scars. "Most of them weren't serious. The one you're touching now was barely more than a cut; it scarred simply because the doctor at the camp didn't sew it properly since he had many other men to fix after me. I'm afraid that in whatever I could say about it there is nothing interesting enough to entertain Your Highness," he said, the formality with which he addressed her sounding like a mockery now that he was running a hand from her shoulder to her hip. Her naked skin was warm as her eyes were cold.

"And this one?" she asked, slender fingers reaching to trace a scar on his side.

Quercus' gaze darkened as he thought back of the battle where that one scar, the oldest battle wound he had, had been caused. "A grenade fragment, during a battle," he said vaguely, but he had let his expression darken too much, and she had clearly guessed there was more to that than he was letting by.

"What battle was it?"

"It's referred to as the Battle of Hegeliana. Perhaps you've heard of it."

She nodded. "I remember hearing of that battle when I was a child, yes. Only one man survived. It was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes. But that was no battle. That was a massacre," Quercus remarked coldly, not shifting from her touch as she traced the scar again "they lied to us. Sent us to die. The High Command had to know we could never win: we were meant to take time. The reason why I was promoted twice after surviving it wasn't anything heroic I did – it was to encourage me to keep my mouth shut about it and be content with that I got."

"I see," Queen Luzula glanced at him thoughtfully "Vulneraria was already the High General back then. That must have been his decision."

Quercus clenched his jaw. "I'm aware of that," he said.

"One more reason for you to work against him," she commented, reaching to brush back his hair "was it revenge what motivated you into climbing ranks like you did?"

He stayed silent for a few moments, thinking back of how his first reaction upon finding out he and the others had been deceived hadn't been anger, but desire of having been one of those who counted and could make decisions rather than one of the expendable nobodies who could be sent for slaughter any moment without a second thought. He had climbed ranks because he wanted to be one of those who mattered, never again to be used as a puppet to be thrown away after having been useful.

"More or less," he finally said, and he was relieved when she didn't try to press him into saying anything more on the matter. She just leant her head on his chest again instead, and Quercus found himself instinctively reaching to hold her closer, his chin resting on top of her head. There was a long, surprisingly peaceful silence.

"You should probably go now," Queen Luzula finally said after some time, pulling back "before long I'll be expected to get up and call for the servants to help me dress."

He nodded as he let go of her and then watched her standing and walking up to her dressing gown on the floor. "How am I going to get out without being seen?" he asked, getting up and reaching down for his clothes.

She smirked, sliding on her dressing gown and folding it around herself. "There is a secret passage behind the fireplace," she said "just in case. Few know about it, and thankfully none of those in the High Command. Here," she reached to press what seemed to be just a part of the decorative frame around the fireplace, and the wall on the back it slid aside.

Quercus blinked, pausing for a moment from buttoning up his shirt. "I see," he said "but why didn't you have me using it to get inside tonight?"

"It cannot be used to get inside, only to get out. It can't be opened from outside this room – for safety," she explained "so that no one can sneak inside without getting through the guards. It will lead you to the cellar; there will be a switch on the wall. Press it, and be quick to get out: the passage will close again in seconds. And of course, never tell anyone about it. It may be one-way only, but one can never be too careful."

He nodded. "I won't, Your Highness," he said "so, if you wish to summon me again for whatever reason…?"

"You'll receive a message, along with an item to show to the guards so that you can be let in. It can only happen whenever I have the most trustworthy guards in front of my door; no one in the High Command can know that you and I meet."

Quercus chuckled – for a moment he had almost forgotten the little act they were about to play. "I see. It seems like I should get ready to use all of my acting skills."

"Yes. I won't speak nor look at you unless I have to when anyone else is present. And you keep looking frustrated. I like that scowl on your face," the queen smirked "they must think you're out of favour, and resenting me for it. Don't glare at me _too_ openly when I'm not looking, but try to make it obvious enough anyway. Those we're facing are observant men. There will be no need to overdo it."

"I will keep it in mind," he assured her, looking around for his jacket. He found it on the floor a few feet from him, picked it up and put it on. He was almost done buttoning it up when he felt something being laid on his shoulders – his cloak.

"You are of course aware," Queen Luzula whispered in his ear, her hands reaching around him to clasp it back in place with the pin he had been given the day he had been promoted to general "that breathing a word of this to anyone would mean death for you."

Quercus turned to face her and – trying his luck once more – pressed his mouth on hers. She didn't seem to mind. "Yes, Your Highness," he said against her lips. The contrast between the gesture and the formality with which he had addressed her made her chuckle.

"I'm glad to see you know where you stand," she said before pulling back "now go. Take this," she pressed a box of matches in his hand "to find the switch at the end of the passage. And remember – there will be no room for mistakes."

Quercus took it and bowed to her deeply. "I won't fail you, Your Highness," he said before turning to the fireplace and getting inside the passage. The entrance was only about four feet tall, and he had to stoop low as he walked down the narrow, low passage.

"I know you won't," the queen's voice was the last thing to reach his ears before the wall on the back of the fireplace closed again, leaving him in darkness. Quercus paused only for a moment, then he smiled in the dark and kept moving forward: he had a mission to accomplish, and he couldn't wait to get started.

He still had no idea what kind of secrets he was going to learn; but even if he did, nothing could have prepared him for the moment when he'd have to face a truth he would wish he never had to see.


	12. Vulneraria

_A/N: this chapter was supposed to have more happening in it, but I realized it would have ended up being too long, so I split it. The good news being that this way I have a good part of the next chapter done, so I'll be able to update again in a couple of weeks at most._

* * *

><p>It took months for it to work.<p>

Months of acting, of clenching his jaw and fists any time the queen was near and looking away, months of pretending to be holding back a scowl of anger at being ignored; all without even daring to sneak a glance at High General Vulneraria so that he wouldn't guess it was nothing but an act meant for him to see, so Quercus couldn't even tell his reactions to it.

There were times when Quercus almost thought it wasn't going to work, that it was useless – but the times he would be ordered to join the queen in her quarters, she'd tell him not to worry and simply keep the act up.

"He's watching you closely," she told him one night "I do have my own sources. And you've been convincing so far; it's only a matter of time."

She was right. One afternoon after an especially boring reunion concerning the possibility of reducing the number of men on stance at the capital, while Quercus was already walking out of the Council room, High General Vulneraria called out for him.

"May I have a word with you, General Alba?"

Quercus stiffened for a moment before he forced himself to relax and turned to see High General Vulneraria standing a few feet from him. Now that he could allow himself to observe him from up close, Quercus couldn't help but think he hadn't changed much since the first time he had seen him, right before the civil war. His receding hair and moustache had a little more of white and a little less of grey now and, while it made Quercus briefly think of the spray of grey now showing on his temples – good grief, time really was passing – it wasn't enough to make him look like an easily fooled old man. He was someone whose mind worked all too well, and around whom he was going to have to be careful.

"Of course, sir," he said, not even really needing much of an effort to feign surprised: he _had_ been caught by surprise.

The older man smirked. "You sound surprised," he said, stepping past him and gesturing for him to follow so that they'd be walking side to side "fair enough, I suppose. We rarely exchanged more than a few words, after all," he chuckled "pretty heated, at least from my part. Talk about a rocky start. I never quite got around to tell you that you truly handled the situation well."

Quercus was almost tempted to agree, say that of course he had since unlike him he knew what war was about – still, he knew he had to be as humble as he could now. "I suppose I was lucky. I was rather hot-headed and rash. Had I not been able to handle it, I could have caused a disaster."

"Oh well. I suppose that what matters is that you were, in fact, able to end the war quickly. Let's think no more of it," Vulneraria said, and he smiled pleasantly "after all, young people are supposed to be rash. I tend to forget it. I used to be a lot like you."

Quercus allowed himself a chuckle, knowing the High General couldn't know what he really felt like laughing at was the assumption he had just made. He had never been like Quercus was, never: Quercus was a soldier, while Vulneraria had never been. "I hardly feel as young as I used to be, sir. Sitting for hours leaves my back stiff. It wouldn't have happened ten years ago."

"Oh, now, now. Barely in your forties and complaining already?" Vulneraria chided him, and Quercus was almost amused by how patronizing he managed to sound "if anyone here should complain about advancing age, that's me."

Time to behave like a humble inferior desperate for support again, Quercus thought: now that he thought he had lost Queen Luzula's support, that was what the High General was certainly expecting from him after all. "I must say, sir, that you hardly appear like someone to be bothered by advancing age at all."

"So I was told," Vulneraria laughed, clearly pleased, then, "you know, some other generals and I meet from time to time in my residence for dinner. Next time will be in three days. Why don't you join us?"

That was it, Quercus thought – that was his chance. Of course, he had no doubt over the fact he was going to need more time and patience to get where he wanted… but it was a start, finally. "I'd be honoured to, sir."

"Very well, then. I'll let you know what time it is," the old man said, giving him a friendly pat on the back before walking off. Quercus stared at his retreating back for a few moment, fighting a smirk off his face, and kept walking in the opposite direction.

He stopped near the end of the hallway, though, and glanced around until he spotted one guard in particular – one of those who stood in front of the queen's quarters any time she asked for him to join her there, one of those Queen Luzula considered trustworthy above doubt. Making sure no one was looking in his direction with a quick glance, Quercus reached up to take off one of his medals – the copy of the one he had left to Daphne, he thought for a moment – and walked up toward the guard with it in his hand.

He walked up to him, gave him a quick glance… and then he walked past him, letting the medal fall on the floor as he did.

The tingling of metal on marble was immediately followed by the guard's voice. "You lost a medal, sir."

Quercus stopped walking as though his voice had pulled him back from his thoughts and turned to see the man picking up the metal and handing to him. He shook his head with a chuckle. "My, again? It's the third time already. I should learn to be more careful," he commented aloud as he reached to take the medal, then, "tell Her Highness I have news to report to her," he whispered, his lips barely moving. He supposed he could have written a message to the queen, but he'd rather keep their written exchange to the minimum where they weren't strictly necessary. A letter can fall in anyone's hands, after all – he knew it well, since that was what had saved his life and allowed him to climb ranks once.

The guard gave him a slight nod – one that could have easily mistaken for a simple gesture of respect – and Quercus walked away, putting the medal back in place.

He wasn't at all surprised when he was summoned to the queen's quarters that same night.

* * *

><p>"And he specifically asked for you to join?" Queen Luzula asked, her eyes narrowing in thought. Despite that, Quercus could easily read some smugness in her expression and posture, that of someone who's thinking 'I told you he would'.<p>

"That he did," he replied "he expressly invited me for dinner on Thursday at his residence. Along with the other generals he keeps close, I suppose."

"That's likely. I was already aware of the fact they often meet at his residence; private dinners, of course. But it certainly doesn't take much to guess it's not only mundane talk they engage into," the queen smirked and reached across the chessboard to move a bishop forward "it seems you've found your opening to get into the inner circle. Play your cards well, and you could have a chance to do more good to this country than any war you fought and won ever did."

"I will keep that in mind, Your Highness," Quercus said quietly before reaching to move a rook. It was rather amusing how he never knew what to expect whenever he was called into Queen Luzula's bedchamber. Sometimes they would simply discuss the situation and then he'd leave, sometimes he stayed for the night… and sometimes they'd discuss over a chess game. In such occasions Quercus never knew whether after it she would want him to stay or leave. It vastly depended on how the game went: if he won, he usually could stay – and have her. "I won't fail."

"I should hope so. If they guess what your purpose for being there truly is, you'll be as good as dead. If they don't have you killed, then I will," she said plainly, moving her queen to eat one of Quercus' knights as thought to emphasize her point "you'd be left with nothing to lose, and might just decide to turn your loyalty elsewhere. I cannot afford the risk of having you as an enemy, General Alba," she added, putting the knight she had just eaten beside the chessboard and hitting it with a finger, causing it to fall off the table. "This _country_ cannot afford that risk. And the country comes before anything and anyone else."

Well, Quercus thought, she certainly wasn't being subtle. It was a morbid conversation, but it made him smirk nonetheless. "I'll take it as a compliment, Your Highness. A humble knight, a threat to the queen?"

"You don't seem bothered by what I told you," she observed, resting her chin on her palm.

"I'd be if I thought I might fail. I don't."

Her lips curled in an amused smile. "You're arrogant," she commented, making her move and eating his only remaining rook "probably one of the most arrogant men I've ever met."

"I was under the impression you appreciated that."

"Mainly because, unlike many others, you do have a good reason to be this confident," she tilted up her head to look straight in his eyes "as long as it doesn't turn into plain foolishness."

Quercus cocked an eyebrow and brought a hand to his heart, pretending to be hurt. "Now that was cruel, Your Highness – flattering me one moment to insult me the next. You should know by now that I'm not in the habit of rushing into anything without thinking things through very carefully," he smiled at her and glanced down at the chessboard "case in point," he added.

Queen Luzula followed his gaze, and it took her only a few moments to realize what he meant – she had fallen into a trap. It was Quercus' turn to move, and his other knight was just in the right position to eat the queen; after getting her most important piece out of the way, he was certainly going to head for the king. He had practically won that game.

"As you can see," Quercus went on, picking up the knight he had left and letting his hand hover above the queen "I'm not one to act foolishly: everything I do is carefully pondered beforehand. I will not fail. The only way for me to be a threat to you would be turning against you. But…" he pulled his hand back from above the queen and moved his knight on another square, where her bishop was. He hit it lightly with his knight, causing it to fall over and roll down the table and onto the ground, much like his other knight minutes earlier. "… Your Highness knows well where my loyalty lies," he finished, placing his knight in the bishop's place "your enemies are mine as well. If someone in this palace should view me as a threat, that is High General Vulneraria. Never you."

There were a few moments of silence. The queen looked down at the fallen bishop for a moment before looking back up at him. Their gazes met, and Quercus leant forward. "Your queen can eat my knight now," he said "just as easily as you could have me crushed with one word, any moment. The question is: will it?"

She stared back at him for a few more moments before her lips curled in a smirk. "Sometimes I think I have your figured out, General. I do, for the most part. But there are other times when I'm convinced there is something to you that escapes me. Is there?"

"Perhaps. But it is nothing you should be concerned about. You have no reason to be."

She chuckled, leaning forward as well. "Oh, I know. You wouldn't be allowed inside my quarters otherwise – let alone armed, with no guards to stand in your way, and an escape route ready," she added, briefly tilting her head toward the fireplace "you have my favour, and you need to keep it – you need _me_."

Quercus chuckled. "Your Highness has me figured out more than enough, I believe," he said.

She leant a little further forward. "As much as it's necessary."

"And isn't it enough?"

"Not quite enough to sate my curiosity, no," she answered, her eyes wandering on his face as though searching for something. He couldn't tell what she was looking for, nor whether or not she found it – all he knew was that after a few moments she stood and walked away from the table and the chessboard, moving closer to the fireplace. For a few minutes there was silence, with her staring at the fire and Quercus just sitting still, staring at the deep shadows cast by the fire on her face and waiting for her to speak.

"Will you stay for the night?" she finally asked, her voice even.

Even though Quercus knew she couldn't see him, he nodded before standing and walking up behind her. He put his hands on his shoulders, felt the warmth of her skin through the silk, breathed in the scent of her hair.

"If Her Highness wishes me to, yes."

A soft, almost inaudible chuckle escaped her. "I do. Do you?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

* * *

><p>"General Alba! My, it's a pleasure to see you here – I'm glad you could come."<p>

Quercus pasted a smile on his face when he saw the High General walking up to him, holding out his hand, and he held out his own hand to shake it. "Thank you, sir. I certainly didn't want to miss this. Your invitation was appreciated as it was unexpected."

"You're most welcome. As I said, we should have got to know each other a long time ago," the older man said, escorting him through a long and luxurious hallway "I hope my home meets your standards."

"It actually by far exceeds them, sir," Quercus said with a brief laugh "when I'm not at the palace, my residence is at the barracks."

"Oh, that's right – you have no residence outside your room at the palace. I forgot about that… peculiarity of yours," Vulneraria commented "you're an interesting man, General Alba."

Quercus was very much tempted to let him know there was nothing peculiar in a soldier living at the barracks and that so would he if he _were_ a soldier in the first place, but he knew better than that. He gave a brief laugh instead. "I've spent more than half of my life in the barracks, sir – you could say my true home is wherever my troops are, and where duty commands me to be."

"Well, I supposed that's a good thing for Cohdopia: you're such a valid element that keeping you away from the battlefield would be a dreadful, dreadful waste. But let's not discuss of war now," he added, leading him through a door and inside a large and luxurious living room where Quercus could see at least a dozen generals from the High Command "there is a time for that and a time to enjoy fine things, wouldn't you say?"

Quercus nodded in agreement before politely greeting the other guests, receiving their greeting in return. None of them looked surprised in the slightest to see him, and that certainly didn't not surprise Quercus, either: the High General had clearly observed him for a long time before deciding to approach him, and had probably discussed the matter with his inner circle as well.

"Very well then," High General Vulneraria spoke once the greetings were done with "I do believe all of the guests are here, so let's not let the food get cold," he tilted his head to the door leading to the dining room and laid a hand on Quercus' shoulder "I'm rather confident you'll enjoy the wine. It's the very best from the south of the region."

Quercus smiled. "I'm certain I will," he said, and followed him into the dining room like a good, loyal dog.

* * *

><p>"Is it all?" Queen Luzula asked, propping herself on one elbow. Her other hand ran down Quercus' chest.<p>

He nodded. "Yes, it is all. Unless you're interested in idle chats or in knowing whether or not I liked the wine," he smirked.

She sighed, but didn't seem surprised. "I see. Then again, it was to be expected they wouldn't go straight to the point. I'm sure they're evaluating you carefully. Expect more invitations, and keep it in mind your every move will be carefully scrutinized," she leant her head on his chest again and closed her eyes "but I'm certain you're perfectly aware of that."

"I am."

"And are you also ready to deceive all of them?"

Quercus smirked once more and reached to stroke her hair. "For my own good, that of Cohdopia and its queen's, I should hope so."

Queen Luzula cocked an eyebrow. "Nice to see I come last in your little list, General Alba."

"My deepest apologies, Your Highness," he said, sounding anything but apologetic "is there any way I can make it up to you?"

That got a small chuckle out of her. "Aside from accomplishing the mission I gave you?" she looked up at him with an amused glint in her eyes "I can think of a few," she added, and those were the last words to be spoken for a while.

* * *

><p>The first, <em>real<em> sign that Vulneraria had been fooled came months later, and it was so sudden that Quercus had barely the time to realize it before he had to give an answer to the High General's… _suggestion_.

Looking back, though, that day the High General was being friendlier than usual, insisting for him to take second servings at the dinner he was attending to – Quercus was rather sure all those dinners and lunches along with Vulneraria's inner circle were the reason why he was starting to put on some weight despite the constant exercise he felt his duty to undergo as an army man – and generally being overly pleasant. Then again he was often like that, so when the discussion had taken that sudden turn Quercus had been taken aback.

"Tell me, General Alba, how many units under your command are currently on service at the border with Zheng Fa?"

Quercus blinked, a little surprised by the sudden question in the middle of a talk about where they'd hold council now that the Council Room's pavement needed some fixing – but he was quick to recover. "Sir?" he asked, and he took notice of the fact all of the other generals had stopped talking. None of them was looking at him, but Quercus could tell that they were listening to every word – and he knew right away that it was finally the moment, that the High General had decided to make his move and see whether or not he could make use of him.

_Finally_.

Vulneraria shrugged at his question. "I was simply wondering. Since the situation has been stable for quite a while, I was thinking that perhaps we could reduce the number of men on stance there. I'm certain many of them would be glad to be back home after months of service, after all. Wouldn't you agree?"

Quercus gave a slight nod, not letting any kind of emotion show. "Yes, I do see your point, sir. Perhaps I should bring this up at the Council so that we can discuss reducing the number of men on service in the area?"

The High General shook his head. "Oh, no, no need to," he said pleasantly "Her Highness certainly has enough worries already; I wouldn't want to saddle her with a decision on what is, after all, a rather trivial matter. Besides, that area is under your authority. You do have the power to take that decision autonomously if I agree – and I most certainly do," he added, as though he had just agreed to an idea Quercus himself had.

All too aware of the eyes that were now fixed on him, Quercus kept up an impassable façade – but inwardly, he sneered. The old man wasn't even trying to be subtle, was he not? What he was asking him to do was diminishing the number of units on the border with Zheng Fa with his consent alone and without informing the queen. Was it just a way to test him, to see if he'd comply like a loyal dog and turn his back to the monarch for good, or was there a reason behind it? Or was it both?

Either way, he told himself, he had to play along. He would look into the matter later – right now, he needed everyone in that room to believe he was on their side, that he had taken his place among them under High General Vulneraria's wing.

"If you do agree, sir," he finally said "then no, I suppose there is no need for us to bother Her Highness."

Vulneraria seemed extremely pleased by that reply. "Wonderful, wonderful," he said raising his glass a little before taking a sip of wine, and Quercus noticed that all of the other generals' postures had relaxed as well "do you think you could give me a list of the units that have been there for longer than six months? I'd say they have been away from home quite enough – we could move them in other areas, closer to home."

Six months? Quercus thought quickly, and realized that there were perhaps a couple of units that had _not_ been there longer than six months. And that was not a surprise: most units spent up to a year in their assigned area, after all. That was something the High General simply could not ignore. What was he up to?

"I can already tell you, sir, that most units have been there for six months or longer," Quercus said slowly "there are, perhaps, two units that have been there for only a couple of months. If we were to move all units but those two, I'd afraid we'd leave the border almost completely unguarded."

Vulneraria feigned surprise upon hearing that; he didn't make a bad actor, Quercus had to admit, but he could still see through that act right away. "Oh my, you're quite right," he said with a slight frown "well, that wouldn't do – our intention is to take exceeding units away from the border, not to leave it unguarded. On the other hand, it wouldn't be fair moving closer to home only part of the men who have been there for so long. What to do…?" he paused and rubbed his chin as though in thought.

And then it hit Quercus – he _knew_ what the High General was aiming for now. For what reason he couldn't tell yet, but he was certain that little act of is was leading to one thing: replacing most men at the border with Zheng Fa – men under Quercus' command – with other units… units under Vulneraria's authority. That would grant Vulneraria almost complete control at the border… but why?

Well, Quercus thought, there was only one way to find out.

"I think there may be a simple solution, sir," he spoke "we could simply replace the units we move with others. For example, one of the units on stance at the border with Zheng Fa is almost entirely made of men who come from the northern part of the Allebahstian region. We could move them there, so that they'll be closer to home…"

"…and move those who are there to the east instead," Vulneraria finished, his gaze brightening as though he had just heard that idea for the first time – as though that wasn't what he had been aiming to get to begin with, Quercus thought sarcastically. Still, there was some smugness underneath the surface that wasn't too difficult to notice; the old man truly believed he was on top of the game… and Quercus would let him keep thinking so as long as it was necessary. The surer of himself that man grew, the more likely he would be to make a mistake. "Now that is an excellent idea, General Alba. I believe I can think of a few units under my command that would fit the role just fine."

I had no doubts about that, Quercus thought scathingly.

"Then it is settled, sir," he said "I'll let you have the list of the units that can be moved by tomorrow," he added. He knew he was technically giving up on most of his influence on the area, and that from the moment Vulneraria's units settled there most of the decisions would be out of his hands – _mostly_. Because there would still be two units left there under his command, and in one of those units there was someone he knew above doubt he could trust, someone who was going to be his eyes up the sleeve, his eyes and ears at the border.

It was time to give Captain Mormo, fellow hero of the war against Reijam, a phone call.

* * *

><p>"…and allow me to stress out," Quercus repeated for what felt like the millionth time – but it bore repeating, considering who was it he was talking to "that this mission is one that will require secrecy. You'll have to observe silently and report to me and me alone. Without being noticed, without drawing attention. Meaning <em>no explosions<em>."

A heavy sigh came from the other side of the line. "I understand," Captain Mormo mumbled, his Babahlese accent even stronger them usual "but let me tell you, sir, that wars used to be more fun back in the day."

Quercus' lips curled into something resembling a smile as he remembered the battle he and that man – a sergeant back then – had fought side to side, along with Lieutenant Anteos Palaeno. Palaeno had retired to civilian life after the first civil war, but Mormo had decided that military life fit him best; thinking back of the man's gleeful expression while he set up the explosion meant to catch by surprise the army of Reijam, Quercus couldn't help but agree. Besides, the idea of that clearly unstable individual raising a litter or equally unstable individuals was worrying to say the least.

"Please, do refrain from talking like we're two old veterans," he finally said "besides, this is no war. It's simply a… let's say it's a precaution. And remember, breathe no word of this to anyone. I cannot honestly tell what would happen should you be caught snooping around, and I'm afraid I could do nothing to help you without exposing myself – and I cannot do that."

"That's no problem, sir," Mormo said, and Quercus could easily picture him shrugging; he had the habit of shrugging off most of what would trouble most people, and Quercus could admire that "I'll be silent, secretive and all that stuff. They won't even notice I'm watching. And I'll report to you and you alone should I see anything out of place."

"Good. Remember to call the number I gave you to report, and that alone," he added – it was the only one he was certain could not be put under control, simply because no one but himself and the Queen knew of that one line "and always at the time I told you."

"Yessir," was the immediate reply "no worries, you know I'm more competent than I look," another laugh, then "say, sir, can I ask you if you've thought about giving me that leave I asked?"

Quercus chuckled. "Make sure not to set the barracks on fire in the next month, and you'll have it – whether or not you find anything. Now go and remember than this conversation didn't happen," he said before hanging the phone and turning to look at the queen – who, on the other hand, looked rather puzzled. "It's settled," he said "he'll be our eyes and ears. Should anything suspicious happen among the troops under Vulneraria's command, he'll know it – and so will we."

She nodded, but still looked rather puzzled. "What kind of man is he?"

"Well…" Quercus hesitated only for a moment "he's completely insane, for one, and has pyromaniac tendencies. And he's forbidden to handle explosive unless we're in war time."

Queen Luzula cocked an eyebrow. "That doesn't precisely sound reassuring," she pointed out.

"Oh, he's far from a reassuring presence," Quercus said, thinking back of when, as they waited for the army of Reijam to fall in their trap, he had feared Sergeant Mormo would give in to his glee and set off the explosions too soon "but he's trustworthy, Your Highness, and competent. H's not afraid of putting his life in danger and, should he be caught, I'm certain he will not breathe a word on who sent him."

The queen gave a low hum, folding her arms on her chest. "And do you truly believe he may see or hear anything that may put him in danger? Do you truly believe Vulneraria is up to something? This may as well have been nothing but a way to test you."

"That's a possibility," Quercus agreed "but I do believe there is something more to it, and keeping our eyes open cannot hurt. Let's say I have a gut feeling about this."

"I see," the queen smirked "is it the same gut feeling that saved your life more than once in war?"

Quercus smirked back. "Yes."

* * *

><p>Only a few weeks had gone by when Captain Mormo contacted him. And, judging by the way he kept fumbling with words, he was also rather enthusiastic over finally having news to report.<p>

"Captain, for the last time, speak _slowly_," Quercus almost growled "it's not of much use to me if I can't catch a word of what you're babbling. Again, what is it you saw?"

"Crates, sir. I saw crates. Piles and piles of crates. A _lot_ of crates. You wouldn't believe how many crates-"

"Fine, fine," Quercus quickly cut him off "you saw crates. I grasped that. Where were those crates? Who had them? And what was inside?"

He heard Mormo drawing in a deep breath, as though to calm himself, and to his credit he sounded calmer when he spoke again. "One of the new units, sir," he said, clearly referring to those under the direct authority of the High General "I saw them carrying crates and stocking them inside a certain tent. None of those from my unit was allowed near it, sir. Orders from above, they said. But that wasn't enough to stop me, you know, General Alba."

Quercus chuckled. "I had no doubt. I take it you did approach."

"Yessir, of course. Snuck into the tent at the first chance I got. And I also managed to open one, and then close it again without anyone noticing. There were bottles in it, sir."

There were… what?

"Bottles?" Quercus repeated, blinking – he wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't _that_ "are you… certain?"

"Positive, sir. Bottles and bottles of whitecrystal oil. I recognized that stuff right away – my father and grandfather and great-grandfather worked into the mines for that stuff. I know what it looks and smells like."

Whitecrystal oil, Quercus mused, something finally starting to click – hadn't Vulneraria been rather adamant over keeping the amount of Cohdopian goods available for export to Zheng Fa low? Then why would he place his men at the border specifically to stock crates of the most famous product of the Babahlese region?

"And what happened to the crates? Are they still there?" he demanded to know.

"Negative, sir. They brought them beyond the border at night – I followed them until a certain point, then had to go back because they would have seen me otherwise. But they definitely brought the crates beyond the border, sir. Sir?" he called out as he received no reply "are you still there?"

Quercus – who had been grinning a bit too widely to even try speaking – recoiled. "Of course I am. Thank you for the information, captain; the help you gave me was invaluable," he said. Now he knew what the High General had been up to, why he did everything he could to keep commerce with Zheng Fa from being completely free – so that his little… _business_ wouldn't have competition, or at least not much of it. And he certainly had accomplices in Zheng Fa, which probably answered the question on who had sent the assassin: Vulneraria's accomplices had, and Vulneraria himself had allowed him to get inside the palace.

No matter how partial the opening to commerce to Zheng Fa the queen had signed was, it still _had_ damaged their little business, and they had decided they should get rid of her; after all, for Vulneraria it would have meant killing two birds with one stone, given how unwilling she had always been to let most decisions in his hands like her father had done.

But something had gone wrong, someone had stepped in the way – Quercus Alba. And Vulneraria had decided that having him as an ally would be more convenient than having him as an enemy. Not a wrong reasoning, but he had overlooked a detail: the queen had his loyalty still. Then again, with the small… act they had put up, it was no wonder he would grow to think he no longer did. Queen Luzula's plan had worked perfectly, he thought, and his admiration for her crafty mind went up, if possible, yet another notch.

"So, what do I do now, sir?" Mormo's voice snapped him from his thoughts "I keep following them? Take one of the crates?"

"Wha…? No, no," Quercus said quickly, half-fearing that any answer that didn't start with a 'no' right away would result with Mormo running off to do exactly that "that would be useless, and would only get you killed."

"Useless? But, sir, if I get one of the crates-"

"It would serve no purpose," Quercus cut him off "the man we're set against is no fool; if we were to do anything now, we'd only have proof to take down a few pawns – but we wouldn't reach him. Not to mention that we'd give him a heads up. No, he has to be unaware of the fact I know of his _business_ until it's possible to nail him. But this is something I'll take care of by myself. Your role ends here, Captain Mormo – there is nothing more you could do," he paused, then, "you fulfilled your role brilliantly. As always."

"Ah, shoot," Mormo muttered, sounding somewhat disappointed, but then he gave a brief laugh "oh well, it was fun while it lasted. Some excitement, finally. Not like old times, but almost, eh?"

"Close enough, I suppose," Quercus smiled faintly "in a matter of a couple of weeks, you'll have the leave I promised you. It goes without saying that you're not to tell a soul what you saw and heard."

"I'll be silent as a grave. Good luck, General Alba, sir."

"I never needed _luck _but… thank you," Quercus said quietly before slowly hanging the phone. The sense of euphoria over finally finding out about Vulneraria's traffic was still there, but the knowledge he was not yet done dulled it. What he had said to Mormo was true – much more than a few crates would be needed to _truly_ link High General Vulneraria to the smuggling operations with Zheng Fa… and perhaps with other countries.

How was he going to do that was something he couldn't imagine yet, but he had managed to accomplish far more desperate missions than that and he was sure he would manage, no matter how long it may take.

But, to his own surprise, it would take him less than a week to get his hands on documents that proved the High General's guilt on more things he may have imagined; an occasion handed to him on a silver platter by a man he had made the mistake to label as an idiot since the first time they had met, a man who had kept en eye on him while he kept both of his own eyes on Vulneraria. The queen's second spy.

General Durandii.


	13. Casus Belli

_A/N: much like the previous chapter, this one was supposed to have more happening in it, too. But, AGAIN, I realized it would have become too long. So, AGAIN, I had to split it. This is happening a lot lately. My brain sure doesn't like keeping things short._

* * *

><p><em>Come at my quarters at midday. There is a matter we must discuss. Show the card to the guards, and they'll let you in.<em>

Quercus frowned in thought as he read the message again, thinking that perhaps he hadn't read it right – but it had. The message did say that he should show at midday. "Unusual," he murmured to the empty room. Ever since he and Queen Luzula had started their little act, almost a year before by now, their meetings had always happened at night to lessen even more the chances of someone noticing.

Why that sudden change? Was there a reason to it? Some urgent matter? Or was he simply getting paranoid?

Quercus shook his head at the thought. No, his was a justified question: they had always made a point of meeting at night to keep said meetings secret. It was a well-established pattern, and there had to be a reason for that sudden change… and with so little forewarning, too. He glanced at the clock. It was ten in the morning: in two hours, he'd be expected to be at the queen's quarters. Yes, something was definitely up, he though, putting the card that had come with the letter – a Kind of Spades, he took the time to notice – in his pocket before burning the message, so that no trace would remain.

* * *

><p>Even before the heavy door leading to Queen Luzula's quarters closed behind him, Quercus could tell something was off. Not that it was difficult, really: he would have had to be blind not to notice an older man wearing a general's uniform standing a few feet from him, giving him his back and apparently busy contemplating one of the paintings that decorated the hallway.<p>

Quercus froze, and for a moment before the door closed with a clang behind him he thought that it was a trap, that they had found out all about their plans and had decided to get rid of both of them – then the door was shut, and the man turned.

"General Alba," General Clematis Durandii said with a smile "it is a pleasure to see you. I see you're perfectly on time as always."

Now he was just about the last person Quercus had expected to see there – while he was one of those who nodded at everything Vulneraria ever said, he wasn't especially close to the High General and his inner circle, either, and Quercus had always dismissed him as a fool – a friendly one, but still a fool. And yet, if he was there… perhaps he had been wrong all along?

Quercus clenched his teeth. "I must say I'm surprised to see you here, General Durandii," he said somewhat stiffly, still tense and ready to react at the first suspicious move from the other man "may I ask what for?"

Durandii smiled, his usual friendly kind of smile. "Her Highness was gracious enough to accept to hear me out on a matter of the utmost importance. And I have to admit that I am not surprised at all to see you here, instead. Her Highness did say that your help in this will be necessary, as it has been until now. Speaking of which," he added casually "I have to congratulate you for the wonderful job you did at infiltrating into Vulneraria's inner circle. I couldn't have done better even if that were to be my role – and it wasn't," his smile turned into a chuckle "I was, after all, meant to be the fool who cannot pose any danger to anyone. The kind of person one doesn't need to be careful around."

Some annoyance and worry mixed to the confusion, and it had to show on Quercus' face at those words, for Durandii immediately spoke again. "Oh, do not misunderstand me. It was not you to be foolish enough to lower your guard around me. Even while thinking of me as a fool – you did, did you not? – you never let one word too many slip in my presence. One of the reasons why, when Her Highness first told me of the little plan she had in mind, I agreed with her that you would be the right choice. The right man to send into Vulneraria's circle. You make quite the wolf in sheep's clothing, General Alba," Durandii laughed a little "and I do mean it as a compliment."

Quercus, on the other hand, didn't quite feel like he was deserving of any compliment at the moment. Had he truly been so easy to deceive, so quick to dismiss General Durandii as a simpleton? What a fool he had been! "I take it you've known of this little… double-crossing that's been going from the very start," he finally said quietly, not yet relaxing, not really: for all he knew, the man could be actually on Vulneraria's side and lying to him to make him lower his guard.

Durandii opened his mouth to reply, but someone else got there first.

"Oh, he's known about it before it even started."

Both Quercus and Durandii turned to see Queen Luzula leaning on the doorframe leading to her studio, clad in her royal garments. She was looking straight at Quercus, the amused smile on her lips speaking volumes on how smug she felt for surprising him like that.

"Your Highness…?" Quercus heard himself saying, too taken aback to even begin remembering he was supposed to kneel in her presence.

She didn't seem to mind. "General Durandii is an old friend of my mother," she said calmly "and his loyalty to the Royal Family is above doubt. He has been my eyes and ears in the High Command since the beginning of my rule. But some, how should I call them?, _spats_ with the current High General back in the day precluded him the possibility of getting into Vulneraria's inner circle. So he began playing, as he said, the part of the aging man turned foolish by age. Which worked quite well, as he already mentioned: he stopped being viewed as someone even vaguely threatening, and people would let by information even in his presence," she smirked "but after the assassination attempt we realized that more would be needed. Someone _else_ was needed, someone who could get closer to the High General. And, by that point, you know very well I had my eye on you, General Alba. I knew where your loyalty lay. You know the rest."

Quercus found himself staring at her for a few moments, absorbing the information, then he nodded, slowly. "I see. I must say I'm impressed by your acting skills, then, General Durandii," he said, turning to the older man "I admit I always thought of you as inoffensive as well. I supposed I should apologize."

Durandii laughed. "No need to. I was meant to come across that way, and your surprise actually is a compliment – let an old man take pride in his acting skills. Now," he added, turning to the queen "old age makes it less comfortable for me to stand for long, and I'm afraid the humid weather we're having these days isn't helping, either. May I suggest Your Highness to discuss the matter further in the study?"

She nodded in agreement and turned to walk inside, gesturing for them to follow. She sat behind her desk – a large, heavily decorated wooden desk – and they sat on two chairs on the other side. "Before I let you know what General Durandii is here to say," Queen Luzula said, leaning back "is there anything you want to ask, General Alba?"

Yes, there was.

"I'd like to know how come I was unaware of this," Quercus said, briefly turning his gaze on Durandii "why wasn't I told General Durandii was on our side all along?"

A smirk curled her lips. "Does it bother you, General Alba?"

Quercus clenched his jaw. "With all due respect, I'd be lying if I said the contrary."

A chuckle. "I expected as much. If you think you were not told because I wanted to test you, rest assured – it hasn't been so for a long time. Of course, even before the assassination attempt I was keeping an eye on you. And even once I was certain of your loyalty, I couldn't know how good you could be at not letting a word slip by when you shouldn't. So General Durandii tested you in that regard, and his evaluation was a positive one. I have long since learned that a ruler needs a second opinion before acting; everything I do, _everything_, may have heavy consequences on my country. And once it was established you were trustworthy…" she shrugged "well, you had different roles. I simply saw no reason to let you know."

A brief silence followed, then Quercus nodded. "I understand," he finally said.

"Very well," General Durandii spoke up "now that it's settled, I suppose I should explain General Alba the reason why he was called so suddenly, and the reason why I'm here."

"Please, do," Quercus said. If he had called there to such an unusual time and if Durandii was there, there had to something important going on.

The old man nodded. "Very well. A few days ago, there was a dinner at Vulneraria's house. The one all generals were invited to, remember? So that the distinction between his inner circle and the others blurs to untrained eyes."

"Yes, I do remember that."

"Then you'll also remember seeing me there," Durandii said with a chuckle "and you'll also remember I had a drink too many."

A sly smile curled Quercus' lips. "Except that you didn't, did you? You were perfectly sober, were you not?"

Another laugh. "Of course I was, my boy. I'm too old not to know dulling one's reflexes in a den of wolves is far from a good idea. But everyone was ready to believe I was. The old fool, unable to handle wine – it was not the first time they saw it happening, or believed they did. I heard them laughing when I staggered to the bathroom. But the last laugh was mine, because I just happened to open the wrong door. The tricks alcohol can play on you," he smirked.

Quercus stared back at him, his own smirk fading into incredulity. "So you could wander around without anyone suspecting…?"

Durandii nodded and leant back on his chair. "Exactly. Oh, it wouldn't have been nearly enough hadn't it been for a little stroke of luck – namely, the fact our High General has a special key, a custom-made one, for his study and for the safe inside it. And you have no idea how easily a drink or two can untie the tongue of a blacksmith – especially that of one who's proud of his work. So I knew exactly what the key I was looking for looked like. Quite useful, especially since it looks nothing like a key, unless you want it to."

"And… you found it?" Quercus asked, his mouth dry. In that safe there could be proof to link the High General to the smuggling activities at the borders, and if Durandii had opened it…!

"That I did. You see, the High General seems to believe that the best place to hide everything is in plain sight. He isn't quite wrong on that, actually; hadn't I known what I was looking for, I would have walked right past that rack on the wall without even stopping to look at the knives."

Quercus blinked. "Knives…?"

"Yes, knives. That is what they key is designed to look like. Then you press a certain point on it, and the blade disappears to give you something else – a key. Here," he reached into his cloak and put something metallic on the desk – a key, and something that looked much like a knife "I took moulds of both the key and the blade, just in case. Even the blade may be more than what it looks like."

"Moulds?" Quercus repeated, frowning "do you mean… didn't you open the safe?"

General Durandii shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Ah, the eagerness of youth," he chuckled, as though ignoring the fact Quercus was actually in his forties "it would have been far too risky – someone could have come to look for me any moment, and explaining myself would have been troublesome. Besides, if I found anything proving the High General's involvement in the smuggling operations you spoke of to Her Highness, how would I manage to bring it outside the residence without being spotted? No, that wasn't something that could be done in a rush while the residence was crowded. So I simply took moulds, put the key back in place and… drunkenly staggered back to the living room."

"The copies you see," Queen Luzula spoke again for the first time after several minutes "are what will allow you to get inside High General Vulneraria's study this evening and open his safe, since we're certain he keeps it on his person when he isn't home. I already made sure you'll be undisturbed: the Council will reunite this evening, and I expressly requested the High General to attend. You, General Alba," she smirked "will conveniently be feeling too sick to attend. No one will disturb your search – this day of the week is the one in which his servants have their free day. If it's successful, we'll have the proof we need to accuse Vulneraria of high treason."

So… was that it? Were they finally close to getting Vulneraria out of the way? Quercus barely dared to hope that. "I hope I'll find the proof we're looking for," he finally said, reaching to take the key and the blade "I'm rather surprised, though, that you'd leave it to me. General Durandii is the one who-"

"I simply found the key," Durandii cut him off "_you_ are the one who found out what kind of business Vulneraria is running, so it seems only fitting that you'd be the one to find proof. Not to mention," he added, patting his right leg "that my bad knee keeps acting up, I'm far too hold to sneak inside and out of a guarded residence without being caught. You're far younger than I am, and certainly fitter than I _ever_ was," he gestured to his rather prominent belly for emphasis "so, as much as I'd love to be the one to find the proof of Vulneraria's dealings, I have to step back. Having a hand in his downfall will have to be enough for me."

While rather sure that the old man would get a reward for his services – Queen Luzula always rewarded loyalty – Quercus didn't inquire any further. He simply nodded and turned back to the queen. "Even if the residence will be empty, though, there will be guards outside. I'll need to know-"

"We already know how you can get inside," she cut him off "he's in the habit of leaving a window open; it's a small one, and rather high up, but it's large enough for a man to fit in."

Quercus raised an eyebrow. "Am I expected to fly up to said window, Your Highness?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you think I'd even suggest you to take that route if I didn't think you _could_?"

"There is a climber growing up most of the residence's east wall," Durandii interjected before Quercus could ask for a better explanation "I observed it closely, and I do believe its vines can be climbed – let alone by someone who underwent proper army training like yourself."

Fine, now that sounded reasonable. "Yes, I believe I can do that," Quercus conceded "what of the guards?"

"There is a change of guard at seven in the evening," Queen Luzula said "for a few minutes, the back of the mansion stays unguarded – you should be able to climb up the wall of the garden without being spotted. You'll have a hour's time. At eight, one of the guards – one of those holding guard to these quarters right now – will distract his companion and give you a few minutes to sneak away from there. You'll have exactly one hour to search. Do you think it will be enough?"

Quercus nodded. "Yes, Your Highness – it will be more than enough."

She nodded. "Very good. I'll see you again tonight, so that you'll be able to show me right away whatever you may mind. Show the guards this," she handed him a golden ring with the Cohdiopian symbol engraved on it – the flower and the butterfly "they'll be instructed to let you through."

"I see. I'll be back tonight, then, and I confident enough I'll have the proof it takes to incriminate the High General," he said, putting the ring in his pocket along with the copies of the key and the blade and standing up "I should attend to my duties now, before anyone notices I'm gone."

"Then I suppose I'll know how your mission went in the morning," Durandii said with a chuckle "like most old men, I have often trouble staying up late. Good luck, son."

Quercus stiffened for a moment. Later on he would manage to convince himself that he had simply been annoyed by how patronizing the old man sounded, but the truth was that no one had called him that – _son_ – since when his father had died, well over two decades earlier. Except that his father could never grow old, could he? Nor could his mother, or his sisters.

He chased the thought away and simply nodded at the old man. "Thank you, General Durandii. I will do my best. Your Highness," he added with a nod to the queen before turning to leave. He still didn't know – he couldn't know – that memories of his family would resurface once more in a matter of mere hours, and that it would be far more painful than ever before.

* * *

><p>General Durandii had been right: the vines that ran up the wall to the open window were thick enough to climb. But the ordeal was more difficult than Quercus had expected, or perhaps he wasn't quite as nimble as he used to be; either way, by the time he finally climbed through the open window and inside a barely room he could later identify as the master bedroom, Quercus was quivering with strain and cursing whoever had had that bright idea.<p>

And he was going to have to climb back down, too. He really, _really_ hoped that stunt would pay off.

Even though he knew that the house was empty and would stay that way for hours, he moved silently. He stepped out of the master bedroom, closed the door behind himself and walked down the hallway. He knew where Vulneraria's study was – he had been received there once – and before long he was standing in front of a thick iron door. That man certainly was keen on taking precautions, he mused.

But it wasn't enough.

Smirking, Quercus reached into his pocked for the copy of the key Durandii had made. He slid it into the lock and turned it, and – with a sound that was as loud as a damn gunshot to his ears – the door opened. He stayed still for a few moments, ears straining to catch the slightest sound, but he caught none and finally pushed the door open.

The room was pitch black, but that was no surprise: the shutters were closed, after all, and the curtains were drawn. So much the better: that means he could turn on the lights without anyone outside noticing. He had to fumble a little to find the switch, but once he did and pressed it he immediately turned his attention to the formidable safe that sat in a corner, a few steps away from Vulneraria's wooden desk.

He walked up to it, pushed the key in the lock and turned it. There was a clack, and the safe opened.

_Yes_.

The first search, however, was brief as it was disappointing: nothing even vaguely incriminating was inside: only a decorated gun, some money, and reports that held no interest to him. Quercus frowned in confusion – could there truly be _nothing_ to link Vulneraria to the smuggling business? Had all of it been for naught? No, it couldn't be: there _had_ to be something. Perhaps there was another place where he could hide what he didn't want to be found, maybe another safe. He still had forty minutes to search through the house, so maybe-

His thoughts trailed off as his eyes fell into a curious… _hole_ on one side of the safe. It was long and narrow, and vertical. What could its purpose be? Quercus frowned in confusion, running his fingers over it. That curious shape, where had he seen it already? And then there was something Durandii had said… what was it again?

_Even the blade may be more than what it looks like._

Almost without thinking, Quercus reached into a pocket of his cloak to grab the other copy he had been given, that of the knife's blade. He looked down at it and, slowly, a smirk crept on his face. "So it's a blade and two keys in one. Interesting," he murmured to himself before aligning the blade to the opening and pushing it inside.

There was a sudden clacking noise coming from the back of the safe, and what had looked like the back wall of it opened, revealing more space behind it… a space that was crammed with papers, documents and old letters. Quercus' smirk widened as he began to look through them, and before he was even halfway through them he was grinning so widely that his cheeks hurt but he just didn't _care_.

It was there, it was all _there_ – letters from his accomplices asking for more whitecrystal oil, more Allebahstian paper, with dates and instructions for the translations. And those were only the ones written in Cohdopian: there was plenty of letters written in different languages – he could recognize Borginian among those that, he was certain, had to contain even more details of Vulneraria's dealings with his accomplices in other countries.

So he had been right, he thought while taking all meaningful documents, he had been right all along: the High General had quite the business going on with Zheng Fa, Borginia, Reijam and other countries concerning the Cohdopian goods whose commerce was limited by law. No wonder he had been so set to allow only the commerce of small amounts of whitecrystal oil and Allebahstian paper with all countries: he had wanted commerce to be restricted so that he could take the business upon himself, with all the benefits that came from it.

And now Quercus could see why the High General had been so eager to take him under his wing when it had appeared he was no longer in the queen's favour – he was the person responsible of the troops on the borders with Zheng Fa, the only one aside from the queen herself who could lessen the inspections. It must have been a hassle, Quercus thought, trying to get the goods into Zheng Fa with the border so tightly controlled: he had to make them take another route, no doubt, with a great waste of effort and money.

No wonder he had taken the chance when he had realized he had the possibility of getting the man responsible of such hassle under his wing. Now Quercus could see exactly why he had insisted for him to move so many men away from the border, obviously without reporting it to the queen… because there was no need to bother her with such trivial matters in peace time, was there? But now, Quercus thought with a smirk, putting several letters and documents under his cloak, now there _was_, and he was sure she wasn't going to mind being bothered.

He reached to close the safe, the smirk still on his face, but he stilled as his gaze fell on something sticking out of a folder on the very bottom of the safe – something that looked like… a map?

Yes, it was a map, no doubt about it. But there was something about the date scribbled on the upper corner it that was familiar – horribly familiar.

_December 23rd, 1966._

As though on their own accord, Quercus' hands reached for the folder and pulled it out from under the pile of documents. He opened it, and he immediately knew what he was looking at – that was a map of an area right at the northern borders, only few miles away from Borginia… an area where a small town made of merchants and their families used to be before being wiped out of existence in mere minutes with most of the people who had called it home.

Dianthus.

His hometown.

Quercus' eyes went to the date written in faded ink once more – December 23rd, 1966.

_The day the sun went out._

Quercus drew in a long, shuddering breath, and tried to make himself close the folder and put it back in place. He had no more business there, he was supposed to get out as quickly as he could and there was simply not enough time to be nostalgic over what he could never have again. Still, he could not bring himself to: he kept staring down at the map, and the spot where his town had been. He immediately glanced at the northern side, where his home had been. A small one with a small garden, a small one among fields like thousands others, made of wood and bricks and nothing even close to polished marble – but it was the place where he'd go back at night, the place where there would always be a hot meal, no matter how simple, and a warmth and laughter, and that scent of baking bread and clean sheets under the sun.

But then there had only been ruins and the smell of fire and smoke, and last time he had been there – no less than fifteen years before, and he had stayed so little because even being there made him sick now – nothing was left but the oak in whose shade he lazed on summer days.

Quercus shut his eyes not to see the map anymore and shook his head. What had gotten into him? He was most definitely not supposed to let it affect him that much anymore, let alone while he was on a mission. The mere thought something mundane like an old map could have that effect on him was simply infuriating. Now he could close that folder, put it back in place and lea-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something falling on the floor. Quercus opened his eyes and looked down to see a bunch of photographs on the ground. They must have fallen from the folder, he thought in annoyance before putting the damn folder on Vulneraria's desk and crouching to pick them up. He wasn't sure what he had expected them to be of, but what he had not expected was seeing pictures of Borginian war planes from the mid-fifties. It took him a moment to realize that those were probably pictures of the plane models used for the attack – why else would they be in that folder? – but why would Vuleraria want to have such pictures?

Quercus frowned in thought. For reference, perhaps? That seemed likely. Vulneraria had been promoted to High General immediately after that attack so that he could lead the subsequent war – a promotion, he had learned, due to the fact that unlike the previous High General, a man who wanted to try the way of peace, Vulneraria had always been very loud against that possibility in the near future. When the attack had happened, everyone had seen that Vulneraria had been right all along about Borginia – and in the blink of an eye, Cohdopia had a new High General.

So it was no wonder Vuleraria would want to have all possible information on the attack and on the weapons at the enemy had at disposal: it was the first war he led as a High General, so he certainly wanted to know all he may need to know to win.

"He was more than ready to sacrifice as many people as necessary, after all," Quercus murmured bitterly to the empty study, his mind going back to his first battle – the one in which he and his comrades were all sent to die, for the _greater good_. He chased away the memory and looked down at the pictures again. He knew that by the time of the attack Borginia had new, better planes than those ones – planes that had been used during the following war, in fact. Why would they use such old planes to start a war? It was… odd.

Then again, that was far from the only off thing about that attack. The first odd thing was, of course, the target. While Dianthus was an easy target, close as it was to the border, it was far from having any strategic importance. His father had been always saying that, Quercus remembered – who would waste their bombs on a small town of merchants? And most of all, why start a war with a meaningless attack, one that didn't deal any true damage to the enemy but rather encouraged the people of Cohdopia to stick together and fight back?

And then the Borginian government had frantically denied being involved. Obvious lies, since the planes used for the attack were most certainly Borginian ones. Such obvious lies that Quercus had found them infuriating – did they truly think they were that stupid, he had though. Thinking back now, he had to wonder what was even the point in lying after starting a war. There was none, he thought, and for a moment he almost marvelled over the fact he had never given it any thought before. Then again, it was no surprise: he had always done his best _not_ to think of the past, after all.

"But why did they do it?" he wondered aloud. That kind of behaviour didn't make sense. Why attack a town of no importance with outdated planes and then uselessly deny having done it? Not to mention that, while tension was thick those days, there were still chances for peace: the old High General had been making a vast use of diplomacy, and the Borginian government had seemed to be willing to give it a try. Quercus remembered hearing of a possible act of goodwill between the countries while he was off to university, namely the willingness to open the borders for commerce again – he remembered being glad about it because it would breathe new life in his father's business. His father's letters had even mentioned it: Morus Alba seemed to be optimistic on the possibilities that were opening up.

And then the attack had shattered that chance, and had caught everyone by surprise. Everyone but Vulneraria, soon to be the High General: he had foreseen the backstabbing, he had said, and tried to warn everybody, but he had not been listened.

Quercus could remember hearing his speeches at the radio every day while undergoing his army training, he could remember him thundering against the Borginian backstabbers and promising to lead Cohdopia to victory against them – no matter how frantically Borginia would lie and deny having attacked at all. And that he had done, despite the sacrifices it had required; they _had_ won that war, because Borginia wasn't truly prepared to lead one to begin with. That made things even odder now that he allowed himself to think back of it: why start a war you're not even ready for by attacking a meaningless town with outdated planes, all while trying to deny having attacked first?

He frowned in thought, then shook his head angrily and threw the photos back in the folder. What did it matter? The Borginian government was known for having made several bad decisions, prone to rush into thinks they could not handle afterwards – that had to be yet another of those badly thought-out decisions. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I have wasted more than enough time on this already," Quercus muttered to himself, hastily closing the folder… and then he stilled as he noticed there was something written on it with faded ink, three words he hadn't even noticed when he had taken the folder, all of his attention focused on the map.

_Operation Casus Belli._

Any thought that had been going on in Quercus' mind came to an abrupt halt. He thought of nothing, he heard nothing, saw nothing but those three words.

Operation Casus Belli.

_No…_

Casus belli. Latin.

_No_.

By definition, 'an event used to justify a war'.

_NO!_

The folder fell from Quercus' hands and onto the desk, some of the photos falling on the floor, but he was beyond even noticing, aware of nothing but his storming thoughts and the realization that was mercilessly dawning on him. All of a sudden, it all made sense – as though he had found the key piece of a jigsaw puzzle and now all the rest was falling into place and clicking together to show the final picture.

The sudden, useless attack just when the two countries seemed close to an agreement to open the borders to commerce again.

The meaninglessness of the target, a small town whose only characteristic was being near the border.

The old planes that were used, models that were not even supposed to be in service anymore.

The Borginian government's senseless denial of ever attacking.

And then there was Vulneraria – the only one not to be caught by surprise, the one who had always claimed that the Borginians could not be trusted and who had been promoted to High General because of that.

Vulneraria, who had been running a very remunerative smuggling business sending Cohdopian goods to countries with whom commerce was absent or limited for political or strategic reasons; who had always opposed to a free commerce with Zheng Fa, Borginia and Reijam as well so that his _business_ would not have any competition; who would have had everything to gain from a war that could give him glory and at the same time ensure the borders' closure to legal commerce.

Vulneraria, who was not at all above sacrificing lives for his ends.

High General Vulneraria, who had created the perfect excuse to start a war he could only gain from. The Borginians had been telling the truth – they hadn't ordered any attack, they had not wanted to set off a war. Vulneraria had. He had been the one behind it – he and his associates. He had planned it all, and made sure Borginia would be blamed.

He had wiped away a whole town to protect his interests.

_His_ town.

Dianthus.

_Home_.

Quercus' vision swayed and blurred, and he took a staggering step back. He couldn't breathe, his knees were trembling and his hands felt like ice – just like when he had made it to his home to find a pile of smoking ruins in its place and the few disembodied limbs and fine organic matter all that was left of his mother, and father, and older sister.

And then there had been Laureola, little Laurie, her body still intact but her face crushed into an unrecognizable mess of blood and flesh and bone, a gaping hole where her mouth had been – and she had been still warm when he had cradled her in his arms, death having reached her only minutes before he did. If only he had been faster, if only he had told them he was coming early so that the family would be moving to the station to greet him rather than being home, if only…!

There was a dull thud when Quercus' knees finally failed him and he collapsed on the floor, eyes tightly shut, not even aware of the broken noises coming from his throat. But he hadn't, and he never made it on time, he never could see them alive again, and the sun had gone out and never came back.

_But I never left. I'm still here._

Yes, he was. Like the old oak still standing where his house had been, _he_ had lived through it all.

He was still around.

And so was Vulneraria.

The thought caused Quercus' eyes to snap open, the anguished sounds escaping his throat turning into something akin to a snarl, and it was with something close to relief that he felt all of his anguish and despair and shock, _all of it_, turning into something else.

Hatred. The blackest, most scorching wave _hatred_ he had ever felt in his life. And, yes, it was a relief – because that was something he could handle, because the responsible of his family's death had a name and a surname now. It was no longer a _country_ he had to blame for what had happened to his family – it was a man. One man. One single man whose life he could, and _would_, extinguish with his own hands, come what may.

And when he did he would make it slow, he'd make sure Vulneraria knew who was killing him, and _why_.

Quercus' lips curled into a twisted mockery of a smile as he picked up the photos on the ground and stood. He reached to put them back in the folder, closed it and – after one last, long took at it – slid it back inside the safe. He closed the secret door, making sure everything looked in order so that Vulneraria wouldn't notice something was missing from it. Not that it truly mattered – he wasn't going to let him live long enough to even face the punishment for his smuggling operations – but it's always best to catch the enemy by surprise. Vulneraria couldn't know anyone had looked into his safe, not until it was too late for him.

The thought of showing what he had found out about the real reason of the war wit Borginia in 1966 to the queen didn't even cross Quercus' mind. He wasn't certain what he had found could lead to find any certain proof, and even if it did he would simply get no satisfaction in seeing the High General killed by a fire squad.

No, it would be too clean, too easy, too fast – and Quercus wouldn't get to have a hand in it.

But he wanted to. He wanted to be the one to kill him. Him, and no one else. Perhaps he would be caught and then not even the queen could save him from execution, perhaps Vulneraria would bring him down with him, but it didn't matter: nothing but revenge mattered anymore.

"Revenge," he said slowly, as though tasting the word, and closed the safe. He still had some documents proving Vulneraria's involvement with a smuggling business across the borders of Zheng Fa, Borginia and Reijam, and Queen Luzula would see them – but before she was even done going through them, the High General would be dead. Nothing and no one was going to come between him and his prey.

Not even justice.

Not even the queen.


	14. Revenge

_A/N__: this chapter is a bit early on schedule, but it was either earlier than usual or later - I'm going to be away from home the whole weekend without Internet, so I figured out it would be best posting before leaving._

_Another thing: there's quite a lot of violence and blood in this chapter and, well, death. Not a surprise since Alba's intentions were pretty clear in the previous chapter, but I guess it bears pointing that out._

* * *

><p>Had he even bothered to focus on Queen Luzula's expression, Quercus might have been mildly amused by the almost giddy grin on her face as she examined the documents he had brought her, clearly seeing High General Vulneraria's downfall in them. But he didn't take notice of her expression as he didn't take notice of anything else: he just stood there, his eyes locked dead ahead of him, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of the death he would soon visit upon Vulneraria.<p>

"We're going to need someone trustworthy to translate these without breathing a word to anyone outside us," Queen Luzula was saying, looking down at a letter written in Borginian "but I'm rather sure General Durandii knows the right people for this. Once we know precisely what all of these say, I'll reveal their content and have the High General arrested – until then, he must have no idea what we know and are planning. He might just avoid the trap if he knew it's there," she smiled, but her smile faded once she took a look at Quercus' expression.

"Is something the matter, General Alba?

Quercus recoiled, inwardly cursing himself for letting anything show – whatever had it been that he had let show. "Your Highness?" he asked, trying to sound genuinely confused.

She tilted her head on one side. "You look like your mind is elsewhere, General. To be honest, I expected your reaction to be… quite different."

Thankful that she hadn't detected anything more than that, Quercus forced himself to smile. "Permission to speak freely, Your Highness?" he asked, more to take time than to really ask for a permission he already had.

She chuckled briefly. "Like you didn't know that's something you have granted all the time. Now tell me, what is it?"

"I was simply wondering what my role will be from this moment on," he lied "perhaps foolishly, until this afternoon I was under the impression I was the only one in the High Command to have your complete trust. You'll excuse me for being… unsettled now that I've been proven wrong."

There were a few moment of silence, then she let out a brief, low laugh. "One could say sound jealous, General Alba."

Was he? He had been, perhaps. But it didn't matter now. Nothing but his next and final meeting with Vulneraria mattered anymore. But for that to happen he couldn't allow himself to let the queen suspect he was on to anything, or that he knew more than he was letting by. She would certainly oppose to his desire to kill the High General with his own hands, and that would be… regrettable.

Because he wasn't going to let anybody stand in his way.

"Do I have any reason to be, Your Highness?" he finally asked.

She shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice, and then fell quiet, clearly waiting for him to ask.

And ask he did, because it was what she expected him to do and he had to appear normal. "Is he your lover, Your Highness?"

The smirk that had been curling Queen Luzula's lips immediately turned into a heartfelt laugh. "Durandii, my lover? For heaven's sake, no," another laugh "he's old enough to be my grandfather or almost. No, nothing of the sort happened with him; he had a deep-rooted friendship with my mother, and his loyalty to me is above doubt. But that's all that there is to it."

He nodded. "I… see," he said, managing to make himself turn his thoughts away from revenge long enough to smile weakly "I feel rather foolish for asking now. Perhaps I shouldn't have."

Queen Luzula smirked and took a step forward until she was right in front of him, and reached up to cup his chin, running her thumb over his lips. "It was a foolish question, yes. But I'd lie if I said I'm not flattered to know you worried over it," she added somewhat smugly before her hand went to play with the medals on his chest "you have no reason to worry about your position, either. Once the High General is out of the way, there will be no reason to keep up our little act. Things will be back the way they were before."

Still needing a terrible effort to keep himself focused on the conversation at hand – a knife, he was thinking, he would use a knife because a gunshot would make a far too quick death for scum like Vulnearia, scum so low that didn't deserve the death fit for a soldier – Quercus nodded. "I take it you're not worried over the fact someone may find the timing suspicious," he said quietly "someone is bound to wonder how come I stopped being out of favour right after the High General's crimes are revealed."

"Oh, they certainly will, and unless they're complete idiots they will guess what the answer is," she said, dismissively waving her hand "but they're hardly a threat. Vulneraria is the head. Cut off the head, and all limbs become useless and start rotting away."

Quercus smiled, but it wasn't directed at her words as much as the thoughts of rendering Vulneraria's own limbs useless and unmovable before dealing the killing blow. "That is quite a morbid way to put it, Your Highness."

"Morbid, perhaps, but fitting," she smiled, then, "once Vulneraria is dealt with, I'll offer you the position of High General. You will refuse. I'm certain you can come up with an excellent excuse for that."

He nodded. "I think I can, yes. I suppose there is a reason for this little act, too."

The queen nodded. "Yes. The other generals, those close to Vulneraria, will certainly be wary of you. I doubt they would be able to get much done without Vulneraria's guidance, but if they were to try it will help having someone else as the High General – someone they believe they can easily play for fool, someone they do not imagine may be keeping an eye on them."

"Like General Durandii," Quercus said quietly.

"Precisely. By offering that position to you first, I will make it look like Durandii was nothing but a backup of some sorts. They will think that when I couldn't give the position to my most trusted military advisor, I decided to give it to some fool I can easily manipulate. If they'll want to try anything, their first move will be trying to manipulate him themselves. That's something they wouldn't even attempt with you."

"So Durandii will keep being the spy he has always been for you, from the highest position in the High Command. I see."

"Precisely," she reached up to run a hand through his hair "I hope it won't hurt you having to hold back your ambition for a bit longer. Rest assured, that position will be yours; General Durandii already told me he's planning on retiring in a few years in any case, as soon as he feels his role has been fulfilled. And that day, when I'll ask you to become the High General of Cohdopia, you will accept," she added, her hand moving from his hair to his cheek "won't you?"

Quercus looked down at her, and smiled. He wasn't smiling at her words, but at the irony – she was offering him the power he had always wanted to achieve, and he felt nothing about it. No triumph, no pride, nothing – as he felt nothing at the thought that in mere days he could be standing in front of the fire squad for the murder of High General Vulneraria.

But it did not matter. As long as he had his revenge, as son as that worm lay dead and broken and bloodied at his feet, it did not matter. His hand reached up to cover hers and his smile widened, but it did not reach his eyes. "Anything for you, Your Highness," he said, and all he could think for a moment was that Laureola would have been her same age had she had a chance to live.

* * *

><p>Had anybody been there to witness the feral smile on Quercus' lips as he watched his prey step past his hiding place in the dark hallway, they would have probably thought they were gazing upon death. That was something that would have not displeased him; after all, when Vulneraria would look at him for the last time before the killing blow came, that was exactly what he wanted him to see – not a being of flesh and blood, but a monster, a being that would fill his heart with terror. When he would look upon him in his final moments, he wanted him to see <em>death<em>.

The faint clicking sound of a key turning in a lock was his cue to leave his hiding place. Silently, Quercus walked up the door of Vulneraria's study, right behind them man as he opened the door and reached to turn on the light before stepping in. It would have been easy killing him now, breaking his neck with one twist and leaving without a trace, but it would have been far too quick, far too merciful, and Anthyllis Vulneraria deserved no mercy – nor Quercus had any left.

Vulneraria let out a surprised gasp when Quercus pushed him, hard, causing him to tumble inside this study. Quercus quickly took the key from the lock, stepped inside and locked the door.

"General Alba?" Vulneraria was asking incredulously, fumbling to get back on his feet "how did you get in here? What are you doing here? What's the meaning of-"

"Silence," Quercus ordered, so sharply that the old man immediately trailed off "you will not speak unless I give you the director order to. And of course, you will not scream," with a clack, he turned they key into a knife and held it up, smiling coldly when he saw Vulneraria's eyes widening "or else this… ingenious key of yours just might cause an accident in here before anyone makes it in," he added. It was late night, the servants had left and he highly doubted that the guards outside would hear his screams so easily, but he'd rather not take unnecessary risks until his work there was done.

Vulneraria gaped at him for a few more moments, then he clenched his jaw. "I see," he seethed "I should have known that you were a snake set upon me. How did you know of the key? How did you-"

"I. Said. _Silence_!" Quercus growled, causing the older man to shut his mouth once more and take a step back "I'll do the speaking today, High General," he spat out his grade as though it were rotten meat "you shall keep your mouth shut and _listen_. Sit," he added, gesturing to the chair in front of Vulneraria's desk.

Vulneraria glared death at him, but did as Quercus had said. "How much do you know?" he finally hissed.

Quercus gave him an empty smile. "Quite a lot of things. I must say that the content of your safe was quite… enlightening," he leant against the wall, idly playing with the knife as he kept speaking "I took the liberty of going through some of your documents, and took a few souvenirs with me. I know of your traffics with Borginia, Zheng Fa, Reijam and possibly with other countries I have yet to find out about. Needless to say, should anything happen to me tonight those documents would wind up in the hands of someone who'd be far too happy to use them to accuse you of treason and have you sent in front of a firing squad," he said. Let him believe no one else knew of them, he told himself, let him believe he had a way out so that he would keep quiet and _listen_ until the moment he'd realize he was not to leave that room alive.

And as expected, Vulneraria fell for it. "If you want to be included in the business, simply asking would have been enough," he said, and attempted a sly smile "I could use a man like you, after all. I believe we can arrange an agreement."

Quercus smiled back, and something about that smile had to disturb the other man, for his expression immediately changed, and he looked every bit as anxious as he had to feel.

Good.

"Perhaps we'll discuss it later," Quercus said lightly, dismissingly waving his hand, the one with the knife "right now, I'd like to share something with you. I suppose you could say I have a story to tell."

"A… story?"

"Yes. About a town that is no more, a man who never was and a young woman who never came to be," he stared straight in Vulneraria'a eyes "tell me, High General – have you ever lost someone close to you? Someone you could do nothing to save, someone who did not deserve to go? Someone you wish with all your soul you could have again, to the point you wish it had been you to be taken?"

Vuleraria said nothing: he only stared, clearly wondering where that was going.

"You're expected to _answer_ to my questions, High General," Quercus said sharply, and the old man recoiled.

"I…" a pause, a deep breath, then, "my wife. She passed away several years-"

"My condolences," Quercus cut him off dryly, not meaning it at all "so at least you do know what it feels like. But I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? I was supposed to tell you a story after all, not to ask questions. A story that starts out almost twenty-four years ago, in a small town near the northern border. Dianthus," he said the name slowly, his eyes fixed on Vulneraria's face to search for a change in his confused expression, _anything_ that indicated that he at least recognized the name of the town whose destruction he had ordered, but he saw none. It didn't surprise him too much; what did the name of a small town unimportant enough to be wiped out of existence matter to someone like him?

"It was no important place; it was little more than a village, and it relied mostly on commerce. Most people in Cohdopia didn't even know it existed. But some others – not many, but a few – called it home."

Another silence, longer than the previous one. Quercus had to fight back a lump in his throat before speaking again, his voice even and emotionless. "Among those who called it home," he finally went on "there was a family with three children – two daughters, and one son. Their own parents' families had been made of merchants for generations, but they were not too obsessed with traditions. So, when their son asked to be sent to the capital to study law, his parents let him; they were strong believers in self-determination. That was one useful lesson to learn from them," Quercus added thoughtfully, pausing for a few moments before going on.

"So the son left. He went to the capital, and began studying law. He was quite good at it, too," he smiled briefly "but at some point he had to come back, you see. There was a promise he had to fulfill. But he never got a chance to, because by the time he made it back home he found nothing but ruins and fire and death. His family was gone; his parents, his older sister, and the youngest one – only seven years old. Sometimes I wonder what woman she would have grown into had she lived, High General. I wonder what kind of man _I_ would have turned out to be had things gone differently. Had that war never been started, had I never lost my family and interrupted my studies to join the army with the foolish idea of getting revenge."

There was yet another long silence. Quercus kept quiet, eyes fixed on Vulneraria, waiting for him to speak first. His grip on the knife tightened. "I am… truly sorry for what happened to you. To your family," the old man finally spoke slowly "but I still fail to see-" he trailed off with a gasp when Quercus snarled and took a sudden step forward, the knife gleaming gold in his hand.

"The attack that destroyed that town and the people who lived in it," Quercus spat, his whole body shaking with suppressed fury "is what you refer to as Operation Casus Belli. You see _now_, don't you?" he growled, and gave a horrible smile as he saw the High General growing pale "yes, you do. I have to congratulate you: it was quite the plan, and the whole country fell for it – hook, line and sinker. But no lie can hold forever, can it? And of all people who could stumble into the truth, it had to be _me_. Isn't it ironic?" he gave a barking laugh at the old man's horrified expression, at the way his eyes kept uselessly darting to the locked door. "And now, High General Vulneraria," Quercus added, his voice a low growl "I do believe this is the right moment for you to beg for a mercy I do not have."

Vulneraria stared back at him with wide eyes, his skin ashen, and for a moment he truly looked like he would start to uselessly beg… but then the corners of his mouth curled upwards, and his frame began to shudder even so slightly, and it took Quercus a few moments to realize he was laughing.

Laughing.

He was _laughing_.

Something snapped in Quercus' mind, and he lunged for him, for his throat. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and forced him to stand, holding the knife only inches from his throat. "What _is_ it you find so funny?" he snarled "do tell me, High General. _Humor me_. Perhaps I'll make your end less painful if I find you amusing enough."

Vulneraria's laughter subsided. "Oh, it's nothing. I was simply thinking… well, I am quite disappointed in you, General Alba. I would have expected at least some gratitude from you."

For a moment Quercus could only stare at him, his mind unable to comprehend what he had just heard. "Gratitude," he found himself repeating, as though it were a foreign word whose meaning eluded him.

"Yes, gratitude," Vulneraria said calmly "do tell me, General Alba, where would you be now hadn't your family died? Hadn't you joined the army because you had nothing left but revenge? Do you think you'd be half as powerful as you are now? No. And do tell me one thing: if you had a chance to have your old life back now, this very instant, if only you gave up on all you achieved after losing them – would you take it?"

Quercus opened his mouth to say that yes, of course he would, but he found himself unable to speak for a few moments. He thought back of all the work, all the sacrifices, all the _years_ it had taken him to make it that far, of the reason that kept him from ever giving up – the determination to never again be expendable, never again be _worthless_ like… like…

Like his family had been.

"See?" Vulneraria spoke again, something akin to triumph showing on his face as he realized what Quercus' stunned silence meant "you wouldn't – this is the kind of man you _are_. What you claim destroyed your life actually gave you a chance you wouldn't have had otherwise. You owe me everything you have. I didn't take anything from you – I _gave_ you everything. And now…" he paused, and Quercus noticed just one second too late that his right hand had reached to grab something behind his back "_now_ I'll be taking it all back!"

He moved quickly, far more than Quercus had believed him to be able to; before he could even begin to react Vulneraria's right arm moved into an arc and something hard – the small statue that had been on the desk, an iron miniature of the Primidux Statue – was slammed against the unprotected side of Quercus' head. For a brief moment he could feel everything with the sharpest clarity – his skin breaking, the thud of something hitting the bone, the blood running down his head – and then everything was blurry, just so damn _blurry_, and at first he did not realize that the dull thud that reached his ears was that of his body falling on the floor.

And his consciousness was slipping away, just _slipping_ away, no matter how much he wanted to cling to it, and he had failed, he had _failed_, and… and…

…and then a sound reached his ears, a laugh, Vulneraria's laugh, and something emerged once more from his clouded mind like a monster emerging from a dark cave screaming for blood – fury. He refused, _refused_ to go down without a fight, refused to meet his family again without having taken revenge , before making sure that the man responsible of their deaths had paid – and some things can only be paid for in _blood_.

_Then get up, and fight._

Quercus' eyes snapped open and he rolled aside just an instant before a blade – that of Vulneraria's ceremonial sword – hit the floor where his head had been. The High General let out a growl of anger and tried to raise the blade again, but he wasn't quick enough, he _couldn't_ be quick enough, not with such a heavy and long sword to handle, and by the time he raised it again Quercus was back on his feet already.

Half-blinded by blood and sheer fury, Quercus knew one thing and one thing alone – that he had to be the first one to strike, or it would be the end of him. So he swung his arm, the golden knife-key cutting through the hair and then through flesh. There was a gurgling sound, that of someone chocking in their own blood, then the clang of a sword falling on the floor and the thump of a body falling moments afterwards.

The momentum of the attack caused Quercus to tumble against the wall, and for a few moments he leant against it, eyes shut, drawing in deep breaths. Then, when he felt like he could stand without feeling excessively dizzy because of the blood loss, he pushed himself off the wall and staggered to the centre of the room, where High General Vulneraria had fallen after managing to take only a few steps towards the still locked door.

He lay on his back, throat slit and blood soaking the front of this uniform, but he was still alive, still _breathed_, and his eyes, wide with confusion and dawning horror, opened to meet Quercus' gaze as he stood over him. Quercus could feel the blood running down his head, plastering his hair, but it didn't stop him from smiling down at his opponent in triumph – he was badly wounded and unable to scream, but still alive, and that was just perfect: he wanted to stare at him in the eyes once more before letting him die. Eventually.

"I suppose you were right, High General. I should be grateful," Quercus sneered as he knelt next to his still form and used the knife to cut the front of Vulneraria's uniform, exposing his heaving chest "so it's only appropriate I kneel and leave a tangible _proof_ of my gratitude, wouldn't you say?"

Vulneraria tried to speak, and to his credit he did manage to let out a raspy whisper. "N-no more," he rasped "p-please… m-mer…"

"Mercy?" Quercus gave a hoarse chuckle "I know no such thing. As you said, you created me. Enjoy the result of your kindness, High General."

The blade of the knife buried itself into the High General's chest, but not to end him: Quercus had no intention to finish him quite so quickly. "You killed people who were far better than you could ever be," Quercus heard himself growling "but your worst mistake was leaving someone worse than yourself _alive_."

The old man let out another hoarse cry, but he had no strength to move and he could only shudder when Quercus dragged the knife down and down in a long vertical line, down to his stomach, deaf to his weak cries and to the blood that was now soaking the carpet they were both onto.

And it still wasn't quite _enough_.

As Quercus sank the knife in the General's stomach to cut through the flesh once more – another line, perpendicular to the previous one so that it would form a L because it was fitting, yes, it was really fitting, because all of it was for his family and most of all for Laurie – Vulneraria was no longer shuddering nor trying to scream, and by the time the knife was pulled out of his stomach his chest had stilled. It was over.

With blood dripping from his wound to the floor to mix with his victim's, it took Quercus a few moments to realize that blood wasn't the only thing that was dripping from his face, not the only thing that clouded his vision. He let the knife fall on the floor next to him and stared down, through the veil of blood and tears, at the bleeding mess that was High General Vulneraria. He was supposed to be finally satisfied, wasn't he?

And yet he was hurting, in more ways than one, hurting in ways he had forgotten he could hurt anymore; it felt as though the knife was being plunged in _his_ chest now, and _twisted_.

"Laurie," he found himself muttering, his voice shaking "Laurie, Laurie, Laurie…" his voice broke and his shoulders shook. He hadn't managed to cry back then, not while holding the remains of his sister nor while burying her and the rest of his family – but he cried now that his hands were finally stained with the blood of the man who had shed theirs, with raw sobs that tore the breath from his lungs until he could no longer stay upright, until the blood loss took its toll and made him crumble on the floor next to his victim.

He couldn't tell how much time he spent like that, unable to get up and with his mind drifting in and out of consciousness: it could be minutes, it could be hours. It didn't matter, nothing mattered because it was over, because he couldn't get up. Perhaps the blood loss would kill him, or perhaps the concussion would – he would pass out and never wake up. Or maybe he would live through it and would be tried for the murder of the High General, and sentenced to death. Either way, it was over. It truly was.

_No, it isn't. It doesn't have to be. Get up._

The voice that suddenly rang loud and clear in Quercus' mind caused him to stiffen and try opening his eyes – something he couldn't manage to do. He let his head fall back on the floor, desperately trying to remember where he had heard it before, because he had heard it before – the voice of a young woman, clear and sharp as a razor. The queen? No, it couldn't be. But then who…?

_You haven't made it this far to bleed out to death like this bastard. Grow a backbone and get up. You know what you have to do next. You have a plan – go through with it._

And Quercus finally recognized it, he knew whose voice he was hearing, or imagining to hear, because now he was certainly hallucinating: his older sister was long since dead. "Eclipta," he called out weakly, though knowing perfectly that it was useless, that she couldn't be there – he was alone with Vulneraria's corpse.

_Good to know you still remember my name. Now get up._

"I can't," he rasped, eyes still shut, not even thinking how pathetic that was – a dying man hallucinating and talking to himself "too much… lost too much blood. I can't get up. I can't…"

_You can. Get up._

And that wasn't his sister, it didn't sound like his sister; it was the voice of a man, low and calm and spoken slow; a voice he hadn't heard in such a long, long time.

"Father…"

_Quercus, get up._

A dry sob left him. "No. No, I can't. It's over. I did it, I had revenge, I killed him. I'm done. Let it end."

His request was met with silence and for a moment he thought the hallucination was gone, but then it reached him, the scent he dreamed of so often in the first years of his life as a soldier, the scent that had kept him coming back to Issoria for all those years: that of soap and clean sheets and freshly baked bread.

Home.

"Mother?" he whispered, and her voice did come from the depths of his mind next, low and soft and firm.

_They are right. You cannot let yourself go just yet._

He blindly tried to reach out, driven by instinct rather than by rational thought, but his hand met nothing. "I miss you," he choked out.

_We miss you, too. But it's far too soon for you. Be strong, and rise again._

"Please…!"

But then she was gone, they were all gone – they hadn't even been _there_ in the first place – and the scent of home was replaced with the poignant smell of blood. It was that smell to finally drag him back to full consciousness and, while still dizzy, Quercus managed to get up at the first attempt. He pushed the memory of the hallucination back in the depths of his mind – he couldn't allow himself to relapse into such a pathetic display of self-pity, he simply _couldn't_ – and reached up to carefully touch his head. The blood that coated the left side of his face had mostly dried up and the wound was no longer bleeding, and his mind was a little clearer – enough to know what he had to do now. He had planned for it, after all.

Quercus drew in a deep breath before he picked up something from the ground and then stood again, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes tightly shut, until his head stopped spinning. Only then he opened his eyes to look down at the bloodied knife, and he took a long, hard look at it before wiping the blood off the blade and switching the knife back into a key. How ironic that Vulneraria's little trick would turn out to be so convenient for him: no one would think that key may be the murder weapon.

He smiled faintly before wiping stepping past the desk, past Vulneraria's corpse and reaching, with some effort, the door. He pushed the key in the lock and unlocked it, then he stepped into the hallway and approached a certain small table beneath which he had hidden something… valuable. Something High General Vulneraria had traded for years at the cost of many, many lives – Babahlese Whitcrystal oil. Very rare, very valuable… and very much flammable.

Quercus turned to head back into the study, but he suddenly felt dizzy and he had to lean on the wall once more. "Damn it," he growled under his breath, and this time he didn't allow himself more than a few seconds before dragging himself back into the study: he could pass out any moment, and he couldn't allow himself to give up now, to pass out too soon.

Once inside, he opened the bottle and poured its content on Vulneraria's body, on the carpet he lay into, on the floor, and onto the blasted statue that had almost smashed his skull. Once the bottle was empty Quercus threw it aside, took a few steps back, leant once more against the wall – everything was getting dizzy again, everything, and he wasn't going to be able to stay conscious for much longer – and reached into one of the pockets of his cloak for the box of matches he had brought with him.

His hands shook, but he still managed to light up a match. He stared at the flame for a few moments, thinking back of the fire that seemed to have swallowed his whole town after the bombing, and he sneered at Vuleraria's corpse one last time before throwing the lit up match on the puddle of oil on the floor.

The oil immediately caught fire along with everything it touched and flared a bright green against his eyes, and Quercus' head spun, reminding him that he couldn't stay there to enjoy the view, that there was still something else he had to do before he allowed himself some rest – create himself an alibi. His original plan was escaping through the window right after setting the study on fire to destroy any evidence of his presence, but that was no longer an option with his wound, and he was going to have to go for a back-up plan: pretending that the High General's murderer had stunned him with a blow, and then had managed to get away before Quercus – having regained consciousness as the murderer left – could manage to go after him. Wounded and weakened, General Alba had only managed to chase him to the hallways and shoot once before collapsing. How unfortunate that the one shot he could fire had missed.

Granted, it wasn't much of a back-up plan, but his strength was quickly waning and he had no other options left. Besides, was there truly a point to it? The queen would certainly know it had been him, and there was no telling what her reaction would be; would she furious enough at being lied to to want to make him pay, or would she still cover up for him?

But that didn't matter now; he had to try, if anything, and then he would find out. Quercus turned away from the fire blazing inside the room and staggered until almost the beginning of the hallway, then he pulled out his pistol – he had had it all the time but had promised himself he wouldn't use it unless forced, because a shot was bound to draw someone's attention and he couldn't allow that to happen until everything was settled, not until _now_ – and, with a terrible effort, managed to focus enough to lift it and shoot through the window at the end of the hallway.

Weakened as he was, the kickback was enough to throw him backwards, and he heavily fell on the ground. That was it, he thought confusedly – he had no strength left. Quercus let go of the gun, closed his eyes and let his head drop on the floor, the roaring of the flames growing distant as his mind sank into nothingness.


	15. What Is Left

Before he even opened his eyes to meet the blue sky and rustling leaves above him, Quercus knew two things – he knew that he was back home, in the shade of the old oak tree, and he knew that none of it was real. It was nothing but a dream, a delusion, or perhaps… perhaps some kind of afterlife. What if he had not survived his head injury? Still, he did not truly believe into that last explanation; he had had worse, and he would not die because of a simply head injury – he _refused_ to. He was most likely out, yes, and that was a dream he would wake up from sooner or later; that was all that there was to it.

Quercus nodded a little to himself – how curious, dreaming and being aware of dreaming – and sat up before glancing around. There was his house, just across the field, just like it had been before the bombing Vulneraria had ordered, before the sun went out. He stood, his eyes fixed on it. Would his family be there, waiting for him as they had been when the attack had started? Should he go there and see them once more, even if only in a dream, to at least tell them that they could rest in peace, that their deaths had been avenged and that perhaps, just perhaps, he'd soon join them?

Quercus hesitated. There was a part of him that wanted, _yearned_ to see and hear them again – but on the other hand, there was no saying what he might find beyond that door. What if the door opened only to show a nightmare – the blood and disembodied limbs and Laurie's faceless corpse and-

"Nobody's home."

The quiet, childish voice that reached his ears caused him to freeze. He swallowed and stared straight head, not daring to turn. "Laurie?" he murmured.

Her voice reached him again, this time sounding confused. "Hey, how do you know my name? And only my family calls me that. And my friends. But they're not here anymore. They're all gone, and I'm here alone."

Quercus drew in a deep breath and finally turned. Ad there she was, standing a few feet from him with her arms were full of field flowers, looking just like he remembered her on their last afternoon together – with her favourite blue dress, blonde hair loose on her shoulders and a flower crown on top of her head, the one he had made for her. But that day she had been laughing, while now her little freckled face wore a suspicious frown. He saw no spark of recognition on her face, as though she truly had no idea who he was.

"Alone?" he heard himself repeating, his voice raspy "why alone? Where are all the others?"

Laurie's suspicious expression turned into a saddened one. "They left. Gone. Said I should go with them, too. But I didn't want to. I wanted to wait for him."

"Wait?" Quercus murmured, his voice sounding distant to his own ears "who are you waiting for, Laurie?"

She looked away and sniffled. "For my brother," she finally replied "he said he'd be back. He made a promise and he's going to keep it, so I'm sure he will be back. Something must be holding him back. I'm sure he didn't move on without me, so I won't move on without him, either. I don't want him to be all alone when he comes here, so I'm waiting for him. And when he's back we can leave together, and be with our parents and sister again. Have you seen him?" she added hopefully, brown eyes lighting up "his name's Quercus. He's tall, with brown hair and green eyes and a big nose. A lot like yours. But he's younger."

It took Quercus a few moments to speak: his tongue seemed to be stuck against the roof of his mouth. "Laurie, it's… it's me," he finally managed to say "I am Quercus."

_I am what is left._

And just like that, her hopeful expression faded into the most terrible look of anger Quercus had believed could possibly appear on a child's face. The change was so abrupt that for a moment he could only stare, not realizing how cold and dark it suddenly was, how he could no longer hear leaves rustling in the wind – and, had he glanced upwards, he would have seen that the sky was now ashen grey and that the sun was no more.

"LIAR!" Laurie shrieked, and a sharp pain pierced his skull. Quercus winced and brought his hands to both sides of his head, the pain growing worse with each word she hurled at him. "You're not my brother! You're not! _Where is he_? What have you done to him? WHERE IS HE?"

Quercus gritted his teeth against the pain in his head and tried to speak again. "Laurie, listen…"

"NO!" she screamed, letting go of the flowers she was holding. They fell on the ground, withering and dying before even touching it. She stepped back, and the more steps away from him she took, the louder her screams grew. "I hate you! I HATE YOU! Give me back my brother! Stop holding him back! _Let him go_!"

"Laurie…!" Quercus tried to call out, holding out his hand, the one he had been pressing against his head – and he found himself staring at it. There was blood all over it, whether his own or that of Vulneraria he couldn't tell. But he had no time to wonder, for only a moment later there was a sudden, sharp jolt of pain in his head, so strong that he could no longer stand. His vision blurred and he collapsed on his knees, everything around him fading to black, and last thing he could hear was his sister's furious, hateful screeching.

"Give him back! GIVE HIM BACK!"

* * *

><p>"<em>Laurie<em>!"

Quercus awoke with a start, shivering uncontrollably and covered in cold sweat, and for a moment his gaze met nothing but almost blinding whiteness. It would have probably taken him a few more moments to realize he was staring at a ceiling hadn't a cold, far too well known voice immediately gotten his attention.

"It seems that you have kept more things from me than I imagined. Who is she?"

Quercus turned so quickly that his vision grew dizzy, but that passes soon – and even like that it wasn't hard to recognize the person who was currently staring down at him. Queen Luzula may have looked calm and collected to the untrained eye, but Quercus could tell that it was only a façade and that her fury was barely in check.

Perhaps the nightmare hadn't been so horrible, after all.

"Your Highness," he rasped, closing his eyes in hopes it would make his head stop spinning. He felt bandages pressing around his head. He tried to reach up to touch it, but his arms were under the bed sheets and he didn't have enough strength to untangle them.

She sneered through clenched teeth. "If you believe this pathetic display of weakness will help you, you're very much mistaken. Besides, I know you can act better than this. In fact, you can act well enough to fool even me. Well played, Alba. But you won't get to repeat the trick twice."

Quercus swallowed and made an effort to open his eyes to meet hers. "Not a general anymore, am I?" he asked, having already noticed that she had left out his rank. How long had he been unsconscious? Had his set-up held, or had the queen already revealed he must have been the one to kill the High General? Was the firing squad ready to end him as soon as he recovered enough to stand and face death the way a soldier should?

Queen Luzula sat on a chair next to the bed he lay onto. "You still are, for now," she said, her voice low "so far everyone who doesn't know of your little… mission in these past year seems to have no reason to believe you're the one who killed him. Of course, I know better; one word from me, and you're a dead man. And what will become of you now solely depends on what you'll have to say in your defence. I do not appreciate being lied to, Alba – much less from _you_."

Quercus managed to give a weak smirk. "To be fair, Your Highness, I have not lied to you. I simply omitted telling you I had plans of my own with the former High General."

She glared down at him. "Very well, then," she hissed "do tell me what _plans_ you precisely had concerning Vulneraria. Did you try to blackmail him? To warn him? What were you _doing_ behind my back, Alba? And I must warn you – one more answer like the previous one, and you'll be facing the firing squad for the murder of High General Vulneraria. I already told you once what would happen to you should you become a threat to me in any way, have I not?"

Quercus nodded. "You have, Your Highness. You… most likely will not like the answer, but of this you can be sure – I never had any intention to do anything that could damage you. When I went to Vulneraria's office I was careful not to leave anything behind that could link you to his death in any way."

She dismissed his words with a sharp gesture of her hand. "No excuses, Alba. Tell me why you were there in the first pla-"

"I was there to kill him."

Queen Luzula trailed off, and for a few moments she only stared down at him in silence. "Kill him," she finally said, slowly "you went there _specifically_ to kill him. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

She stared straight in his eyes now, clearly looking for a sign he was lying. And she had to find none, for when she spoke again she sounded as confused as she looked. "But… why?"

Quercus closed his eyes. "Laurie," he murmured "Dianthus. My family. Operation Casus Belli. He… the High General…" his voice broke for a moment, a choking noise leaving him "he took them from me. I took his life. I had to, don't you see?" he opened his eyes and looked up at her, anguish written all over his features "it had to be me, or I'd never again have been able to sleep at night."

The queen stared down at him for a few moments, come concern showing on her face – he had to sound insane, he supposed – before she expression turned stony again. "Tell me everything, Alba," she finally said "in a way that makes sense."

And Quercus did, because there was no point in lying and because he had no strength nor will left to even try. He closed his eyes, not looking at her once while he explained everything – the documents he had found, the realization Vulneraria had been the one to order the attack his family had died into, his decision to kill him with his own hands, come what may. By the time he was done talking his closed eyes were damp and his throat was constricted, and he didn't care. He only fell quiet and waited for Queen Luzula to speak, and decide his fate.

After several minutes of silence, she finally spoke. "And this Laurie was…?"

"My sister," Quercus whispered, eyes still shut "she wasn't even eight years old when she died. She'd be more or less your age had she lived, Your Highness. And sometimes, when I look at you, I wonder what kind of woman she would have grown into. What kind of man _I_ would have grown into if only…" he paused and finally opened his eyes, barely registering something warm running down his temple. He turned to look straight at the queen, who looked surprised, and stricken, and somewhat saddened. "This is what he took from me," he said quietly "taking his life was not yet enough. But I wanted revenge. And, I'll admit, in my fury I put it above anything else – including your wishes, Your Highness. Of that, I am guilty. It is now up to your judgement if that calls for a punishment… and, if so, what kind."

There was another silence, longer than the previous one. When Queen Luzula spoke again, her voice was cold as ice. "Did Vulneraria suffer before dying?" she asked. The thought that man had planned a bombing of Cohdopian civilian to start out a war seemed to anger her terribly, as Quercus supposed it should.

"I made sure of that."

She nodded. "Good. He was undeserving even of the firing squad; you were right on that," she said, then, "you should have told me, though. It was foolish of your part just trying to pull it off by yourself."

"You would have wanted him to be tried before execution, Your Highness. You would've tried to stop me."

A pause. "Yes," Queen Luzula finally murmured "I would have."

"And I could not allow you to. It couldn't allow anybody to stop me."

Queen Luzula nodded, her lips pulled in a tight line. "And are you sorry, General Alba?" she asked.

It did not escape him that she was once again addressing him with his rank. He shook his head. "No, Your Highness. I am not. I do regret having had to keep information from you, but I'm not sorry for what I did. And if I could go back, I'd do it again."

A nod. "I see," she said "thank you. For not lying," she added at his confused expression "I know you're not sorry and will never be. Had you tried to claim otherwise, to _lie_ to me, then I would have known I could no longer trust you. And I would have had to make sure you were dealt with – with finality," she smiled, a smile that was sad and terrifying at the same time "you know so much, General Alba, and I could not take the risk of leaving you alive if I were to think you could lie to me."

"So you no longer think withholding information counts as lying?" Quercus asked quietly.

The queen looked down at him intently for a few moments. "I do, usually," she said, her voice low and soft – but it turned into steel one moment later. "But I'm confident you shall never have a reason such as this one to keep anything from me again. Now, you're soon to be questioned about what exactly happened in the High General's residence. The fire destroyed his office almost completely, and with it any possible proof, so they will rely on you as a witness. I suppose you took the time to shoot a window to attract attention and, possibly, make yourself an alibi. Do tell me, what kind of story will you tell?"

"I'll tell them that the High General wanted to speak to me – for what matter I did not know," he said "nor I'd get to know later, because someone was waiting for us in the office. I did not see their face. They hit me on the side of the head as soon as I stepped in, and when I regained consciousness the High General was dead and the murderer was setting the office on fire before fleeing. I tried to follow them outside, but I felt so dizzy, and collapsed just outside the office's door. I tried to shoot them as they fled, but I missed them and passed out again," he sighed "it's not much, but I couldn't come up with anything better with so little time. I wasn't supposed to be wounded. I was… careless."

Queen Luzula shrugged. "It sounds good enough to me," she said "no one who doesn't know what mission you were into will have any reason not to believe you. I'll make Vulneraria's traffics known soon – that will be enough to draw suspicion on a possible unsatisfied accomplice, even for those who already knew of his little side business. You simply keep telling your story, General," she added, standing "and put your acting skills to good use. I will take care of the rest. Now try to sleep: you look like you need it, and someone will soon come to question you over what happened."

Quercus nodded. "I'll be ready, Your Highness. If I may ask… once I've testified, and recovered enough to travel… I'll need a leave."

She blinked. "Leave?" she asked with a hint of curiosity, reaching down to graze at the bandages around his head "what for? Don't you think you'd recover better here?"

"There is a matter I need to settle, and I'm afraid I won't be able to rest until I do. I realize this is not the best moment for a leave, but I can grant Your Highness that I'll be back soon. I have not visited my family in a very long time, and I feel that now is the right moment to do so."

She nodded, her gaze softening. "I see. Very well, then. But you need to wait a little while longer. We still need to carry on our little act: I'll offer you to become the new High General, and you will refuse. Afterwards, you can take your leave."

He nodded. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said quietly, and they both knew it wasn't only for the leave that he was thanking her. She gave a small smile and reached down to put a hand on his, only for a moment – then she pulled her hand back, and left the room without another word.

Quercus let his head rest back onto the pillow and shut his eyes, torn between the need of sleep and the terror of finding himself into yet another nightmare. But that would turn out to be a baseless fear, for there would be no other nightmare, not that night, not ever.

For the rest of his long life, he would never dream of Laurie again.

* * *

><p>As the queen advised, Quercus did put his acting skills to a good use – so good, in fact, that once he was done telling his story no one questioned its truthfulness. Not that he was naïve enough not to guess that his own personal power and then queen's had something to do with it, too, but he was nonetheless certain he had been convincing. Quite a feat, considering that his head was still wrapped in bandages and causing him pain.<p>

Still, the moment he had to act as his best came several days later, when the Queen called him into the Council Room to ask him to take Vulneraria's position as the High General – a position he was to refuse. And he did refuse, knelt on the floor with his head respectfully bowed, and had to fight back a smirk at the other generals' murmurs of surprise and outrage. No doubt, no one had ever refused that position before.

"Are you saying," the queen's voice resounded loudly "that you're refusing the position, General Alba?"

"I am, Your Highness," Quercus said, loudly enough for the whole Council to hear him "but it is not for arrogance that I find myself refusing. I am deeply honoured of the role you want to bestow on me, and rest assured that, had I been older, I would have been honoured to accept. But another storm could start brewing any moment, and my years still allow me to fight wars – I belong to the battlefield more than I belong to the Council Room, and that will be my place as long as my presence won't be a mere nuisance to the troops."

To her credit, Queen Luzula was quite the actress herself: when she spoke again, she actually did sound mildly angered. "So am I to understand you believe yourself to be the best judge of what the right position for you is?"

"I mean no disrespect, believe me," he said slowly, still down on one knee with his gaze fixed on the ground "it is simply my opinion that as for now I'll be of better help to Cohdopia on the battlefield rather than behind the scenes; serving my country at the best of my possibilities comes before anything else, Your Highness – especially before my own ambitions."

There was a brief silence, then the queen nodded, her frown melting. "A soldier at heart, aren't you?" she chuckled "rise."

Quercus rose and looked up at her. Their gazes locked, and her lips curled into a small smirk before she turned to her left. "General Alba has taken his decision, I see, and I will not try to make him change his mind. But we do need a new High General. General Durandii – you have been loyal to my mother already, as you have always been loyal to me. I do believe it is about time you're rewarded…"

* * *

><p>"Perhaps I should have made you High General, after all."<p>

Quercus glanced up from the shirt he was almost done buttoning up and glanced at the queen. She had put her nightgown back on and was staring outside the window, a faraway look in her eyes.

"But there is a reason why you had me refusing that role," he reminded her "because Durandii will be able to keep an eye on the others in a way I couldn't – as long as they keep thinking of him as a fool."

She sighed and nodded. "True enough," she said, turning to look at him "although I must say that bounding you to the Royal Palace – to me – by making you High General was… tempting, for a few moments."

Quercus stared at her for a few instants before approaching. "There is no need for you to, as you put it, bound me, my Queen," he told her, the change from the usual 'Your Highness' not escaping her "your already have my utmost loyalty; I'll run back here any moment I'm not required on the battlefield or anywhere else," he added, reaching to cup her face – a bold move that made her lips curl in a smirk.

"That's good to know," she said. She tilted up her face to kiss his lips lightly, then pulled back. "There is something you should have," she added, and Quercus felt something smooth and cold being pressed against his hand. He looked down to see a very, very familiar golden key – the one he had used to kill Vulneraria.

"This is the murder weapon, is it not?" she asked, her voice low "the key that turns into a knife. A good choice – no one but Vulneraria, Durandii and myself would have imagined it. Since it was considered of no importance, taking it caused no problems. I just thought you'd like to have it."

Quercus stayed silent for a few moments, staring down at the key, then he nodded and slowly put it into his pocket. He reached to cup the Queen's face again and kissed her – again.

"I'll be back soon, Your Highness."

She smiled against his lips. "As always."

* * *

><p>He hadn't been in Dianthus in so much time he had lost count – more or less than ten years? God, he couldn't tell – and very, very little had changed: the only thing that allowed him to tell that time had passed was that more plants had grown around the ruins everywhere, and that grass grew taller than ever before around the tombstones.<p>

It took him some time to find the tombstone that marked the resting place of his family, and several minutes to remove all of the grass from it. That was simply undignified, he thought in annoyance, taking a mental note to pay someone for going there periodically to take care of their tomb. He didn't care if the rest of the cemetery went to the dogs – he would not have his family's resting place in ruin as long as he lived.

Once the grass was out of the way he spent several, long minutes staring at the tombstone. There were no pictures on it, for none was left after the bombing, so all that was on the cold grey stone were names, and strings of numbers. Quercus' fingers ran over the names, lingering on Laureola's for a few more instants, and he let out a deep sigh before pulling back his hand.

"Do you rest in peace now that I've avenged you?" he asked quietly "or were you already at peace, all of you, while I was left here to fight?"

No answer came – but then again, it would have been quite worrying if it _did_. Quercus sighed again before leaving a crown of field flowers – identical to the one he had made for Laurie so much time before – on the grave and standing up again. The cemetery was built on a hill, and from there he could see most of the town – what was left of it. He could see the remains of his house from there, too, so covered by plants that it would have been hard to identify without the reference of the oak tree growing in the field right across it.

The oak tree. Quercus squinted a little and tried to see the damage the bombing had dealt to it, but he could see none– the new leaves covered most of it from his viewpoint, and he was not going to approach to take a closer look. The mere idea of approaching that oak and the remains of his own home made his skin crawl. And what was the point? He knew what he would see, and he was not looking forward for the memories it would bring, be they those of the bombing of those of happier times. Perhaps it had been more fitting than he had thought, killing Vulneraria with a key of all things: with his death he had avenged his family, and perhaps he was now ready to close a door – leaving all memories behind it… or so he hoped.

Quercus clenched his jaw and turned away, Vulneraria's words echoing through his mind, mocking him.

_If you had a chance to have your old life back now, this very instant, if only you gave up on all you achieved after losing them – would you take it?"_

"Would I?" Quercus murmured to himself, his voice lost in the wind that made the leaves of the trees rustle above his head, then he shook his head to chase the thought away. That didn't matter, did it? Because there was no 'what if', there was no chance for him to do that, and trying to imagine his possible behavior in a situation that could never be… it was a waste of time.

Nothing but a waste of time.

Perhaps coming there had been a waste of time, too; a grave was all that there was left to visit, and the remains in it could not feel his presence, or give him answers. Still, he found himself turning to look at the tombstone once again. "I miss you," he whispered "every day."

And that was the truth, the pure and simple _truth_, and he supposed it was all that mattered in the end.

A blow of wind, stronger than the previous ones, caused his cloak to flutter behind him. Quercus looked up to see dark clouds approaching, hiding the sun from sight – _again_ – and realized that it would soon rain.

Still two weeks of leave left, he thought, and he now that he had paid his respect he wondered where he would go. Then again, that wasn't even a question: there was only one place where he could possibly go when on duty. He chucked weakly when he realized that was more information he had kept from Queen Luzula, but in a way he supposed had told her, hadn't he?

_I have not visited my family in a very long time, and I feel that now is the right moment to do so._

Of course, that was not his family; he had none. He had had one, a long time ago, but they were gone and nothing and no one could take their place… but he supposed that, at least from outside, it may have seemed that Issoria and Daphne came close enough to one for him. So he would inform the High Command where he was heading, so that they could reach him if needed, and just go there as he perhaps should have already.

Quercus Alba looked at the tombstone and the flowers he had left there one last time before turning and leaving the cemetery and the town, never again to return.

* * *

><p>Quercus was not one to hesitate, he had never been. Still, when he stepped in front of the small fence around Issoria's small garden to see a little girl – she had to be four and a half now, he estimated – outside watering the plants, he did hesitate to call out. Would she even recognize him? She was so little, and two years had passed since the last and only time he had seen her. Still, he couldn't simply walk in, past her and to the door without saying anything.<p>

"Daphne," he finally heard himself calling out.

The child immediately looked up and turned to him, and her gaze seemed to brighten a little, or so Quercus thought. She put down the small watering can she had been handing and approached. "It's you," she said, her voice now sounding clear and shrill like that of any child, and no longer like an old, unused instrument. She reached up to grab the fence so that she could hoist herself up a little. "Mom told me you'd be back soon."

Quercus blinked, surprised both by her reaction and her words. "She did?"

Daphne nodded solemnly. "Uh-hu. She looked at one of those… you know…" she let go of the fence and held up her small hands to form some kind of rectangle "one of those things that tell adults what happened."

"A newspaper?" he suggested, mildly amused by her talkativeness. And to think she had been so silent and withdrawn the last time. Time truly was passing, he mused, and changing things. For a moment he almost felt as though he had missed out something important – almost.

She immediately nodded. "Yes! A new… newt… _that_. She looked at it and said you'd visit soon."

Quercus nodded thoughtfully. "I see," he said. That made sense: the fact he had been there and had been wounded when the High General was murdered had made it to every national newspaper, and he supposed it didn't take Issoria much to imagine that there was something more to it than it met the eye… and that he would take a leave because of his wound, of course. They both knew that she was the only person he could possibly visit when off duty after all. "Where is your mother?" he finally asked.

The child shrugged. "She went to pay a visit to aunt Junonia. But she'll be back soon," she paused and tilted her head on one side "you look older than last time."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, thank you," he said dryly "so do you, actually."

"I know. Mom says I've grown a lot," she informed him before climbing down the fence and walking to the door to open it "she also told me to let you in if you came while she wasn't here. I've been watering the plants, see?" she added as he stepped in, turning to gesture at the garden.

Quercus looked around as well, and felt inexplicably proud to see how well the garden was coming along. "I see. Am I supposed to believe you did it all by yourself?"

"Most of it," she said defensively "mom helped, but her back hurts, so I did most things by myself!"

He chuckled. "Fine, fine. I believe you," he said before glancing around again "you're doing a good job."

"I know."

"You're supposed to say 'thank you' when someone compliments you," he pointed out.

"Danaus always told me not to thank for something I deserve," she countered.

"Danaus?"

"One of my brothers."

Oh, Quercus thought, right – he remembered all too well the hot-headed boy who had insulted him back when he was still a Captain, during the war with Reijam. He had to be an adult by now, with his own house and family and old enough to be more of a father figure than a brother to Daphne. The thought annoyed him for some reason, but he turned his attention back to the garden.

"I see," was all he finally said.

There were a few moments of silence as they both glanced at the gardenia shrub they had planted together. "It's grown well," Quercus finally muttered "tell me one thing – do you know that your name is special?"

Daphne blinked and looked up at him. "Special?"

"Yes. It's an Allebahstian name, not a Babahlese one. You're named after a plant species, not butterflies."

"Oh, right," Daphne shrugged "mom told me that it's because of a person she knew."

Quercus smiled a little wistfully. "I can imagine," he said quietly, then, "it's a nice name."

She smiled up at him. "Thanks. Hey, I still have your medal. It's pretty. But mom said I should ask you if you want it back next time you came here. So, do you want it back?" she asked.

Quercus looked down at her, and almost laughed – it was clear as day that she was hoping he'd say 'no'. "No," he just replied "you can keep it, as long as you take good care of it. And, before I forget," Quercus added on a whim, reaching into one of his pockets "do you still like shiny objects?"

Daphne's gaze brightened. "Sure!"

"Then take this," Quercus said, handing her a large, golden coin with Queen Luzula's effigy on it "it's a personal gift from the queen to all generals. It's true gold, no need to bite on it," he added with a hint of amusement, and Daphne's hand stopped halfway to her mouth "you certainly don't think the queen of Cohdopia would hand her generals pieces of painted copper, do you?"

Daphne gave a small giggle at the silliness of the idea and shook her head. "Nope," she said, taking a look at the effigy of the coin "so, this is the queen? And you know her?"

"Yes on both accounts."

"And what is she like?"

Quercus opened his mouth to answer, but he found himself unable to think of a way to sum up all that Queen Luzula was in a way a child could understand. "She's a good monarch," he finally said "older than her years, and more than enough of a match to people with more experience in ruling. She makes a fine politician. And, as any good monarch, she puts the well-being of her country above all else."

"Oh," the child said, still looking down at the coin "what about the little princess?"

He shrugged. "I have barely even seen Crown Princess Wilkiea, I'm afraid. She's very little, soon to turn two years old. She and prince Delphinium have a wing of the palace for themselves, so that they're protected all the time."

Daphne made a face. "And they cannot get out? Not ever?"

"Don't be foolish. Of course they will, eventually. But it's safer for them not to leave the walls of the palace until they're older. Especially for the Crown Princess."

"That sounds boring."

"It's necessary. Rulers are not free the way people like you are – not even when they're not yet on the throne. Powerful as they may be, are matters over which they have little to no choice," he added thoughtfully.

"And you?"

Quercus blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My mom says you're not really free, too."

A scowl creased Quercus' brow. "Does she?" he asked, more sharply than he had meant to. In a way it wasn't a surprising statement at all – he had always been aware that to have power there are some liberties that need to be sacrificed – but now it reminded him uncomfortably of the screams that had resounded in his mind right before he awakened from his last nightmare, Laurie's screams.

_Give me back my brother! Stop holding him back! Let him go!_

Her screams, God, her _screams_. But he could see why she had screamed now: he had given the wrong answer. He was not the person she had known, not anymore.

He was just… what was left.

Apparently oblivious to his annoyance, Daphne nodded. "Hu-uh. My mom says-"

Quercus was about to snap at her, ask her if she was even capable of uttering a sentence that _didn't_ start with 'my mom says', but someone else spoke before he could utter a word.

"I see you're back, young old man."

A small smirk curled Quercus' lips as a Issoria's familiar voice reached his ears, along with that equally familiar nickname – one that got less and less fitting as years passed, he mused. "I do not believe I ever heard you using my name even once," he said, turning to face her, but his words were lost under a childish shrill.

"Mom, he said I can keep the medal! He said it! And he also gave me this, look…!"

"Why, it's beautiful," she said with a smile, taking a look at the coin before giving it back to the child and smiling up at Quercus. She did looked a little older than last time they had met, with a few more wrinkles around her eyes and some more gray in her hair – but the serene expression had not changed. "Thank you."

He gave a small smile. "I figured out I shouldn't show up empty-handed," he said, then, "you knew I'm come here, didn't you?"

She nodded, handing Daphne a small bag of groceries and gesturing for her to bring it inside the house. "Yes," she said softly once the child was out of earshot "I was expecting you to come, young old man. But I still do not know what exactly happened," she paused and reached up to lightly touch the side of his head, where the wound still showed. "Will you tell me?"

Quercus reached to take her hand and pressed it against his cheek instead. He shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath. She still smelled of home, soap and freshly baked bread and clean sheet in the sun. "Can I trust you not to tell a soul?"

"Of course you can."

He nodded and opened his eyes, letting go of her hand. "I haven't booked in any inn yet," he said "I was wondering if I could stay, for now."

Issoria chuckled. "Is that even a question?"

He smiled back and nodded. "I will tell you tonight, then," was all he said as he followed her inside.


	16. Incuritis

_A/N__: this chapter was supposed to introduce a canon character into the story, but it ended up getting too long, so said introduction will happen in the next chapter instead. I should have learned it by now - I just have no control over how long the chapters get. _: P

* * *

><p>"Aren't you going to say anything?"<p>

Quercus' question broke a long silence. He kept his gaze fixed on Issoria as he waited for her answer, and she did not look back for a few more moments: her gaze was still fixed on the window, even though it was pitch black outside.

Finally, she turned to look back at him. There was something akin to sadness in her eyes, and pity – yes, pity, it was clear as day that she pitied him – but nothing even vaguely resembling fear. Still, she said nothing, and her silence unnerved him more than any other reaction he may have got out of her.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked quietly "I will, if you want me to. I killed a man in cold blood; you may not want me around you and your child, after all."

Issoria shook her head. "I told you once that you'd always be welcome here, and I never take my own word back," she said quietly. She paused another moment, then she sat on the bed next to him and reached to put her hand on his. "Was it enough?" she finally asked, her voice so low he could barely hear it.

She didn't truly need an answer; he could tell she knew what he would say already. He shook his head. "No. It was not enough. You were right – nothing will ever be _enough_."

Her grip on his hand tightened, but she did not press on that subject. "Have you paid them a visit?" she asked instead.

Quercus nodded. "I have," he said "it was… a long due visit. I thought I had buried them well over twenty years ago," he smiled bitterly "perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I have truly buried them only yesterday. And I don't think I'll be paying another visit," he paused and held her hand back, tight "they probably wouldn't want to receive respects from me in any case."

Issoria frowned. "Of course they'd want to. They-"

"Loved me?" Quercus snapped, suddenly pulling his hand away and causing her to trail off. He stood, hands balled into tight fists. "The person they loved is long since gone. He's _dead_. I am what's left – and what's left is not someone they'd appreciate."

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she shook her head. She looked perfectly calm and anything but threatening, but Quercus still found himself unable to look at her. He turned away as she spoke.

"You have changed, yes. You have grown, and you have let your grief twist you like an old tree. But you've been the same person all along. There is no _you_ or _him_ – that's a lie you're feeding yourself. Have you become unable to be honest even with yourself?"

She had spoken softly as she always did, but the last sentence caused him to wince. He forced himself to look back at her. Their gazes locked and held, and all of the anger he had felt – against fate, against Vulneraria, against the world, against himself, against his family for leaving him behind and against her for never hesitating to be straightforward – left him, leaving nothing but weariness and an odd desperation to let her know that above doubt that at least to her he had never said anything but the truth.

He sank on his knees and rested his forehead on her lap, his arms reaching to hold her as though fearing she might try to push him away. "I never lied to you," he murmured "not to you. Not ever."

He could not see Issoria's lips curling into a small, soft smile, but he did feel her hand resting on his head. "I know," she simply said.

And it was alright, then, for a brief time it was alright and he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. The sheets were made of simple cotton rather than silk, the small room being as far from Queen Luzula's luxurious bedchamber as Issoria herself was from the queen: her body was soft and round rather than slim and toned, she smelled of soap and bread rather than of perfumed oils and no one would have described her as beautiful – an adjective so many people bestowed upon the queen, himself included, for she truly was gorgeous to look at.

Still, there was no questioning in whose arms Quercus slept better.

* * *

><p>"See, I <em>told<em> you it needed more water this morning. Why didn't you listen? You never listen!"

Quercus let out a low growl and put down the watering can, doing his best to ignore Daphne's continuous remarks. He had been there for no more than a few days and he was already missing the time when the child just wouldn't speak. She would still follow him around the garden, sure, but at least she wouldn't blabber all the time.

"And you never keep quiet, do you?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have to speak twice if you listened the first time!"

"Most of the things that leave your word aren't worth the breath you waste to utter them," Quercus pointed out, reaching to take the trimming shears to rid a bush of some dead branches "so you may just want to say nothing in the first place."

Those were harsh words, but Quercus was rather confident they were not harsh enough to affect her – and indeed, they only got a snort out of her. "You're no fun."

"I'm no jester," Quercus said dryly before stepping back from the bush and handing her the shears "I'm done with this – get it back in place."

Daphne stuck out her tongue at him, but she did reach to take the shears and began running to the entrance – something that made Quercus wince and immediately call her back. "What do you think you're doing?" he snapped.

The child stopped running and turned to look at him with a confused expression on her freckled face. "Uh… I'm putting it back in place?"

"Looks more like trying to hurt yourself to me," Quercus scoffed, stepping closer to take the shears out of her hands "never run with sharp objects in your hands and never hold them upright. You must hold the shears like this," he added, holding them with their tip pointing to the ground "has no one ever told you that?"

It was a rhetorical question, but the child failed to grasp that. She tilted her head on one side in thought. "I think mom told me once."

"Well, you should listen more closely to what your mother says," Quercus chastised her.

She made a face. "But _you_ never listen!"

"I _do_ listen to your mother, and so should _you_," he said, handing her the shears and making sure she'd hold them correctly "last thing she needs to find once she's back home is a note telling her I had to rush you to the hospital so that we could try having your nose sewn back on your face," he added, and for a moment – only a moment – the memory of the bloodied hole in place of Laurie's face made it back into his mind.

Unaware of that, Daphne giggled a little; the idea of someone sewing her nose back in place seemed to amuse her. "That was funny," she said.

Quercus' lips curled into a mixture between a bitter smirk and something resembling an actual smile, but it was so quick that she didn't even notice. "I beg to differ," was all he said "not get the shears back in place. Without running," he added, raising his voice a bit as the child turned. But there was no need to: she was walking back into the house, the shears' blades pointed to the ground.

Good.

Quercus turned his attention back to the garden, trying to decide which plants he should take care of next. That one was leaning too much on one side, he thought, so perhaps a stick would help to straighten it and-

"Young old man."

He blinked and turned to see Issoria stepping into the garden, some groceries under one arm and a sheet of paper in the other hand. Quercus frowned. "What is it?"

"A telegram," she simply said, handing it to him.

Whenever Quercus was on leave, he would let the High Command know to address any kind of communication to the village's inn, and either him or Issoria would drop by to check if there was something almost every day; now that Issoria was a widow, Quercus had reasoned, secrecy was no longer such an important issue anymore… and, as far as he knew, no one had ever brought it up anyway.

"A telegram?" he found himself repeating, a little surprised – never before he had received communications during a leave, let alone before being through even the first half of it. He reached to take the telegram with a gnawing feeling in his stomach and read it.

Your presence is required. Return in the capital immediately.

"I take it something happened," Issoria was saying softly.

Quercus nodded gravely, his mind mulling over the possible reasons for being called back so urgently and coming up with nothing. "It must have, or else my presence wouldn't be required with such urgency," he said, looking at his watch "I'll take the first afternoon train. I'll be on time if I move right away," he said. For the first time he regretted not having accepted the official car and driver he had a right to as a General – a refusal that was due to the fact he wanted to be able to move whenever he pleased without anyone knowing unless he chose to let them know.

Issoria nodded. "I'll get your luggage ready," she said.

That statement took him aback: he had always taken care of it by himself, and she had never offered to do so in his place. "That won't be necessary. I can-"

"So that you can spend a few more minutes with Daphne," she clarified, tilting her head slightly toward the house. Quercus turned to see the child standing on the doorway, looking at them and their serious expressions with obvious curiosity.

Oh, he thought, right. He had almost forgotten about her, worried as he was over what may have happened in the capital. "I… alright," he finally said with a slight nod.

Issoria nodded and walked past Daphne and into the house, stopping to tell the child a few words that Quercus could not hear – but he could easily guess them, if anything because of the disappointed expression on the child's face one moment before she walked up to him.

"You said you were going to stay another week," she said somewhat accusingly, arms crossed over her chest.

Far from appreciating being talked to like that, Quercus scowled. "It was not planned, believe me. But I've been called back to the capital. I must go."

"But we still have to finish gardening! You promised-"

Whatever she said next was lost to Quercus when another voice came back from the depths of his mind, the voice of a child who could never grow into a woman.

_Not fair! You promised!_

Quercus gritted his teeth against the memory and glared down at the child. "Now listen here and listen close, you selfish brat," he growled, causing her to wince and shut her mouth "you may not like it, but my duty comes before anything and anyone else. Because my duty just _happens_, among other things, to be making this country a safe place for you, your mother and everyone else. Wars were fought – I fought wars – so that now you can be here in this worthless village gardening without a care in the world. You should, and _will_, show me _respect_ for that. Have I made myself clear?"

Daphne looked down and said nothing.

"Have I?"

Still no answer. Quercus was about to snap again – because whenever he asked questions he demanded answers – but he stopped himself when he realized that the child's shoulders were shaking and damn it, he didn't know how to deal with that: he could deal with assassins and war and murder and conspiracies, but hell knew how he was not prepared to deal with a crying little girl.

Army training sure didn't help with that.

"Listen," he finally said, making a considerable effort to soften his voice "do you remember what your mother said about me? Of how I'm not really free?"

Daphne looked up and nodded, sniffling a little. She reached up to dry her eyes and nodded. "Uh-hu."

"She was right: I am not. I have to be back in service any moment I'm needed; and each time, I may have to fight and die for this country or its ruler. But it's necessary that someone does it, don't you think?"

Her eyes widened, and she seemed suddenly alarmed. "But you're not going to die, right?" she asked worriedly.

Quercus hesitated for a moment – he still had no idea what the reason for being called back could be and what it would mean for him – but then he forced himself to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Not if I get a say in it," he said, then, "and not until we're done with the garden. I'll be back to finish the work. I…" a pause, then, "I promise. So take good care of the plants while I'm away."

She nodded eagerly. "Yes, uh…" a pause "what do soldiers say to that?"

He chuckled. "Yessir."

"Yessir!"

"Good. At ease," he said, and turned to see that Issoria was back outside, placing his suitcase near the door.

"You should probably wash yourself before you head to the station, young old man," she said with a small chuckle, and Quercus glanced at his dirt-soiled hands. Yes, he really should have a meeting with water and soap before leaving; he was still in civilian clothes – he certainly was not foolish enough to garden while wearing his uniform – but he'd get changed once one the train; afternoon trains were usually empty, so it wouldn't be a finding a carriage all for himself.

"Good idea," he finally muttered before heading to the house. He stopped for a moment near Issoria before walking past her. "I'll try to be back as soon as this is over, whatever it is about."

Issoria smiled and brushed some hair off his eyes. "As long as you come back in one piece, young old man, we can wait."

He gave a weak smile. "I'll do my best not to lose any limbs," he said, hoping he wouldn't have to run the risk to begin with.

He wasn't so lucky.

* * *

><p>Before leaving, Quercus had enough time to send a telegram to the capital, so that they would know he would be there by evening. The journey itself felt even longer than it actually was: for the whole time he could do nothing but wonder what could have caused his presence to be required so suddenly. The newspapers he managed to collect at one especially long stop did not help: no relevant news at all, so whatever that was about was not of common knowledge yet. But what could have happened…?<p>

With those questions giving him no rest, he was relieved when the train finally stopped at the station. He was off the train almost as soon as it stopped moving.

"General Alba. It is a relief to see you here so soon."

Quercus stopped on his tracks when a familiar voice reaches his ears – Durandii's. "High General," he said, barely holding back from asking right away what had happened "have you been waiting for me here? I'm flattered."

The older man smiled, but Quercus could see it looked fake as the man himself looked tired, paler than usual and with dark shadows under his eyes. "I figured out you'd want to know right away the reason why you've been called back – and that you'd like a lift to the palace," he added, gesturing for Quercus to follow him "come, there is a car waiting for us."

Quercus nodded and followed him. Neither said anything until they were both into the car.

"The Royal Palace," Durandii told the driver before lifting the glass divider that would keep him from hearing anything they said and turning back to Quercus "I cannot stress out enough how truly relieved I am to see you here."

"And I'd like to know why," Quercus said "what has happened in the _one week_ I've been away? Is Her Highness alright?"

Durandii gave an odd, tired smile. "I see Her Highness' safety is your first worry," he said "that's something I'm glad to know. Her Highness does need someone she can trust – especially now. As for your question, yes, she's fine as she can be. She's not the one in danger – Princess Wilkiea is."

Quercus wasn't sure what he had been expecting to hear, but it certainly was not that. "The Crown Princess?" he asked, surprised "what happened to her?"

Durandii sighed. "She's sick," he said gravely "she was sick before you took your leave, but it seemed to be nothing truly worrying, just a light fever. But it got worse suddenly, and only a few days ago we finally realized it was something much, much worse," he paused for a moment, gazing out of the window, then, "does the term 'Incuritis' say anything to you?"

Quercus shook his head. "Aside from the fact it doesn't sound good, no. I'm no doctor. What kind of disease is it?"

The High General sighed. "A very rare and mortal one."

For a moment Quercus said nothing; he felt as though his blood had turned into ice in his veins. "Mortal," he repeated "but there has to be a cure… isn't there?"

"There is only one cure known," was the answer "and to obtain it, we'll need your help. It's a race against time, General Alba, and you are by far the best general we have – not to mention the one most loyal to Her Highness, aside from myself. But I'm a politician and a bureaucrat, and nothing else; you are the real army man out of the two of us."

Quercus frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he finally said "how could I possibly be needed to find the cure for the Crown Princess? I'm not a doctor, nor-"

"What if I told you a war will be necessary to have that cure, General Alba? That a war may be our only chance to save the heir to the Cohdopian throne?" Durandii cut him off.

There were a few moments of silence. "A war?" Quercus finally said slowly "what _is_ this cure you talk about?"

"A cocoon."

Quercus found himself staring at the older man. "A cocoon," he repeated, his voice even, searching on Durandii's face for any hint that he was playing him for fool. He found none.

"Yes, a cocoon. A Borginian cocoon, to be exact," Durandii said "depending on the treatment, the substance that can be extracted from it can be turned into a powerful poison – or a cure for Incuritis. This," he added, pulling a photograph out of his breast pocket and handing it to him "is our Crown Princess' only hope. But Borginia has no intention of letting us have even one cocoon," he gave a bitter laugh "they still hold grudge against us and our Queen, and few things would make them happier than the heir's death. They are aware of the situation, and they're using the possibility of making poison out of the cocoon as an excuse not to let us have even one. And we need two of them, at least – Prince Delphinium is starting to show worrying signs that he might have been infected as well. If they both die, the royal line will end."

Quercus scowled, his gaze fixed on the picture of a small, white cocoon. "But Her Highness is still young enough to have other heirs should her children die – that would make their plan of ending the Cohdopian royal line a failure. So in the end they're simply being petty, aren't they?" he asked, suddenly feeling more furious that he had in weeks, and lifted his gaze to meet Durandii's "they're sentencing a child to death for no reason but that of hurting our Queen. How much time do the prince and princess have left?"

"Crown Princess Wilkiea has maybe a couple of weeks left; Prince Delphinium seems to be at the beginning stages, so he has some more time – perhaps a month. Incuritis delivers a certain death, but not a quick one. As you can see, we have no more time to waste on diplomatic attempts that will not work; we already sent several men undercover, and all of them were caught and executed. Her Highness and I agree that a war is the only way left – but I believe it's time you speak about it with her directly. She'll receive you immediately," he added, and Quercus turned to see that they had reached the entrance of the Royal Palace. The car stopped, and he stepped out.

"I have to see Her Highness," he told a guard "she requested my presence immediately."

The guard nodded. "I know, sir. This way," he said before turning to lead him inside. Quercus turned to nod at Durandii before following the guard.

* * *

><p>Queen Luzula was just outside the door leading to the children's quarters, and even from afar Quercus could see how pale she was and how dark the shadows under her eyes were.<p>

"Your Highness," he called out quietly, and she immediately turned to him. Her eyes were reddened and her lips were pulled in a tight line – she looked as though she hadn't slept for days, and she probably hadn't.

"General Alba," she said, her voice strained, as though she barely had any voice left "I trust the High General informed you of the situation."

Quercus nodded, stepping closer. "That he has. He informed me of everything, but not of Her Highness' current state of mind. You should get some rest."

She gave a bitter laugh. "How could I? They're doing everything in their power to make sure my daughter and son cannot be saved," she said, her voice shaking.

"Everything in their power will not be enough to stop our army's advance," Quercus said forcefully, reaching to grab her hands – they were small, and cold "I'll lead the troops, Your Highness, and I'll lead them to hell and back if so you ask. I'll have any army they send against us destroyed and any city we come across burnt to the ground if necessary – but I will succeed."

That got a small laugh out of her, her hands holding his hands back as tough her life depended on it. "You're always so sure of yourself, General Alba."

"As you always say, I am an arrogant man. But you also have to admit I'm good at what I do," he gave a small smile "I stopped a long time ago making promises I cannot keep."

Queen Luzula drew in a deep, shaky breath. "But even a quick, victorious war maybe not be quick enough," she said shakily "Durandii must have told you how little time-"

"He has. But I believe we may have another chance – one that would turn the war into a mere red herring."

That definitely got her attention and, despite everything, Quercus could see her turning back into her usual, rational and calculating self. "What is it you suggest?"

"Some of the documents I found in Vulneraria's safe were written in Borginian," he said "which means without doubt that he had connections there for his traffics. Not much time has passed since his death, so the connections may still be used; if they were willing to make dealings with Vulneraria, I don't think they'll turn into patriots when suggested to deliver something to us instead."

She stared up at him as though she had never seen him. "You're saying… we could get _Borginians_ to smuggle the cocoon to us?"

"Yes, or at least close enough. The Borginian government will certainly be keeping close attentions to the borders so that nothing can pass, so a war will be necessary as a cover-up. If we can contact some of Vulneraria's connections before we attack, we could have a couple of cocoons brought away from the area they usually are found into and closer to us. And then, after we've started the attack and our troops get into Borginian soil, a small group – I'll lead them, if you wish me to – will discretely move away to get the cocoons undetected, while our army keeps them occupied. That's the quickest way I can think of to get the cure to your children."

Queen Luzula let go of his hands and began pacing back and forth, her mind mulling over the possibility; Quercus couldn't deny it was a relief, seeing her acting like herself again. "I'll have someone come over to translate the documents in Borginian immediately," she said "if we can use the information in them to find out about the connections Vulneraria had, then we could truly use them to our advantage. Meanwhile, do get the troops ready for war," she added, turning back to him "there is no time to lose. I hope these years away from the battlefield have not hindered your efficiency."

Quercus gave a feral smile. "It's not the case, and I shall prove it."

* * *

><p>The plan worked even better than Quercus had dared to hope.<p>

Not only the translation of the documents found in Vulneraria's safe were enough to be able to contact a man who had dealt with him, but that man was willing to cooperate – for the right price, of course, and it was high… but Queen Luzula spared no expenses, and in a matter of days they had a deal.

The man lived close enough to the border, at the foot of the mountains that divided the countries – ironically enough, not very far from where Quercus' home had once been. Although the idea of attacking from there, get the troops to that place and quickly leave with the cocoons had been tempting, Quercus had decided against it; a direct attack to the area would result in a disaster shouldn't they manage to make it through the defence at the first try – a heavily militarised area would have been difficult to get through, and the cocoons could have become impossible for them to reach.

No, he had told the queen – they were going to have to start the attack away from there, and act as though the troops were heading for the northern part of the country, where the cocoons could be found. "This way they'll only focus on stopping our advance, here," he had explained, pointing at the map "they'll have no reason to think we have any interest of going anywhere but in the north, aiming for the cocoons. And that's what we'll let them think. Then I'll take a few men with me – I'll choose them personally – and move through this area; it's mostly heavy forest up to the point where out contact is with the cocoons, so we should be able to move undetected. We'll also someone who knows the area perfectly to guide us. Once we have the cocoons, all we'll have to do will be crossing the mountains; make sure a truck will be there to pick us up, and we'll be back in Cohdopian soil in a matter of hours while they're occupied with our army."

Of course, there were risks – there was no real guarantee that their contact wouldn't sell them off. But on the other hand it was their best chance… and they didn't precisely have much of a choice, let alone the time to try thinking of another one. So in the end both Queen Luzula and General Durandii had approved of the plan.

"You have my word, your Highness," he had told her, bowing his head "I'll return from Borginia with the cure, or I won't return at all."

"You had better return, then – alive, and with the cure," had been her reply.

"Yes, Your Highness," was all he had said. He would accomplish his mission and come back alive, of that he was certain – he had survived too much to even begin to consider the idea of dying because a vulgar _ambush_ or anything similar.

Besides, he had more than just one promise to keep.

Promises, however, were pushed in the back of his mind as he stood over a hill watching the marching troops before he climbing on the truck to join them. He couldn't hold back a proud smirk as he glanced down at the soldiers, enjoying the sound of marching footsteps as it resounded loud as thunderclap and suddenly feeling like he was twenty once more – how many years had it been since last time he had led troops out to the battlefield? Too many, he thought, just too many.

He was going to enjoy that break from routine.

* * *

><p>"Are all troops holding their position?"<p>

"Yessir. We found more resistance in the fifth area," the colonel said from the other side of the radio "but they couldn't manage to force our troops into a retreat. We'll be holding our positions as long as necessary."

Quercus nodded to himself, looking down at the map in front of him. "Very well," he said. Reaching their destination wouldn't take him and his chosen few more than a few days, even on foot and walking through forest – they were all seasoned soldiers, and they could march most of the day… regardless the environment. Yes, he was rather sure that would work.

"To keep them occupied long enough you'll need to hold your position for a few days, colonel – which means that you have to keep the enemy's air forces well away from the troops. We'll use our own air forces to keep them away. Pass them the order to attack each and every target at range," Quercus ordered, already knowing what the colonel was about to say – something he was perfectly aware of.

"But, sir… there aren't enough military targets at range to keep the enemy's air force occupied for more than just-"

"I never said anything about _military_ targets, colonel," Quercus cut him off, his voice cold "I spoke of _targets_, and nothing else."

There was a brief silence form the other side of the line. "I… General Alba, sir, do you mean… are you saying we have the order to attack civilian targets as well?" he asked, sounding incredulous – Quercus Alba had always been well known for his unwillingness to involve civilians into any war action.

Quercus hesitated for a few instants, his grip on the radio tightening. One order was all he needed to give now, and he had given so many orders in his life – but this time, he would be crossing his own line in the sand… and there would be no taking it back once the order was given. And for a moment, only for a moment, he was about to change his mind.

But then he thought of Princess Wilkiea – nothing more than a toddler, a little child who did not even know how important she was going to be for a country, how important her life was. All that she could know was that she was feeling sick, and weak… and if something wasn't done now – if Quercus couldn't keep the enemy's attention away from where he was going to head and its air forces occupied – she would die before she could even begin to truly live, and no one would know what kind of queen she would make.

And then… then he thought of Laurie, and his grip on the radio tightened even more.

_I wonder what kind of woman she would have grown into._

Was he going to take risks when taking risks could mean letting a child, another child, die because of mere politics?

No, he wouldn't. He would be back to Cohdopia with the antidote – no matter the cost. Quercus clenched his jaw before speaking into the radio again; only a few words that sealed the fate of so many people whose names, faces and actual number he would never even know.

"Yes. Attack anything within range and keep their air forces' attention – leave no building standing if so you deem necessary," he finally said, his voice husky, and he didn't even hear the 'yessir' coming from the other end – he dropped the radio's receiver as though it burned in his hand and turned to walk out of his tent.

There were ten men standing outside the tent, waiting for him – those he had hand-chosen to follow him to the place where they'd meet the man who could give them the cure they sought. They saluted him, and he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Let's simply get moving," was all he said, walking past them.

The sooner they reached their destination, the sooner he could give the order for the raids on civilians to cease.

* * *

><p>It took them no more than three days to reach the area they were heading for. Quercus had expected them to feel like weeks, had expected to feel sour every time the radio let them know of the bombings he had ordered, the bombings that were currently devastating the main cities in the north of Borginia – but instead, he felt nothing. Nothing at all.<p>

He wasn't sure whether it should be a relief or a reason to worry, but it didn't truly matter now: all that mattered was making it back to Cohdopia with the cocoons as soon as possible. Everything else would wait, and so would his – apparently silent – conscience.

"We're almost there, sir," the man he had chosen to be their guide – someone who was born in Borginia from Cohdopian parents and who had lived half his life there before he had to leave the country – said, holding up a map for him to see. "Only a few miles, and we'll be out of the forest. The place is here, in this valley just outside-"

"If it's so close, don't waste your time talking and just lead us on," Quercus cut him off, and them man did shut his mouth and began walking quicker. Quercus gestured for the other men – who had stopped to drink some water – to follow.

None of them noticed the young man in hunting clothes that crawled out of his hiding place beneath a log and began running in the opposite direction, to the closest village – and the closest phone.


	17. Chrysalis

_A/N__: alright, so after almost two chapters of delay I finally get to introduce another canon character in the story - the only one aside from Quercus so far. I doubt anyone would have trouble telling who it it.  
>Also, a heads-up: this chapter contains some violence and blood.<em>

* * *

><p>The house was exactly where they had been told it would be, on the very last hill before the mountain range that divided Cohdopia from Borginia. It was an isolated house, too, just as they had been told. Very isolated. The ideal place to keep items of any kind to be smuggled out or in just across the mountains… but also the ideal place to lay a trap.<p>

"How can we be sure this is not a trap, sir?" one of his men asked, as though reading his mind.

Quercus sighed, still looking at the house through the threes. "We cannot. Not until we get there to either take the cocoons or be shot on sight. It's not like we have much of a choice – and we knew it from the beginning, did we not?" he said, reaching to make sure his pistol was loaded before putting it back in place. He kept his hand on the handle, keeping it hidden in the folds of his cloak – they were all in civilian clothing, of course, but he had picked clothes he could use to conceal weapons. "It goes without saying that, if it _does_ turn out to be a trap, we'll fight our way out of it. Won't we?"

His men nodded as one. "Of course, sir."

"Very well. You will stay here, hidden from view. Keep your weapons ready and your eyes peeled – you're to act at the first sign something isn't right. You two," he added, gesturing to the most experienced soldiers in the group "come with me."

They nodded and followed him without a word. They got as close as they could to the house without leaving the cover of the woods, but there was still a tract they'd have to cross to get to the house – one with nothing to shield them from view. Quercus hesitated only for a moment before drawing in a deep breath and finally leaving the cover, eyes and ears straining to catch anything even vaguely alarming, hoping his men would be able to give them cover should they need it.

But they did not need it, not for now, at least: Quercus and the other two made it to the house's front door without incidents of any kind. Of course, it didn't mean they were safe yet – but it was… promising.

Given that no one was ready to shoot them point-blank right on the other side of the door, of course.

Quercus shook his head a little to get rid of those morbid thoughts and, without allowing himself another moment's hesitation, he knocked the door – thrice. Then he paused for a few seconds, and knocked twice more. That was supposed to be the signal, or so he had been instructed.

A few, long moments of silence followed. Then there was, unmistakable, the sound of a key turning into a lock. Quercus' grip on the handle of his pistol tightened.

And then the door opened, and in a moment – so quickly it was almost… anticlimactic – Quercus found himself staring at a man who couldn't be past his early thirties at the very most, with dark hair and eyes that were uncharacteristic for a Borginian. He was looking at Alba somewhat fearfully, but his voice was firm as he spoke.

"Can I help you?" he asked in English, settling for a language they both understood, and Quercus knew it was time to let him know without a doubt he was the one he had been waiting, the one who had contacted him and started the whole deal.

"Cadmium?" he asked quietly, speaking the name their contact had told them to refer to him with. Quercus had no way to know whether it was a first name or some kind of code name, nor he truly cared to know: all that mattered was that he could let them have the cocoons they needed to save Crown Princess Wilkiea and Prince Delphinium.

The man nodded. "That's me," he said, and gazed past Quercus' shoulder as though to make sure no one else aside from him and his men was there, and he moved aside to let them in. "Come inside."

The house itself was small, simple, mostly made of wood – but after days walking in the forest, the simplest piece of furniture seemed a luxury. Quercus, however, barely paid attention to their surroundings after glancing around to see no one else was in the room. "You certainly will not mind if my men search the other rooms to make sure there is no… surprise of any kind."

He didn't seem enthusiastic at the idea, but he did nod. "Fine with me. You'll find nothing and no one. I only ask for your men to be quiet – my daughter is sleeping, and they may frighten her."

"I chose them for their stealth, so believe me, they _will_ be quiet," Quercus said with a chuckle before turning to his men and speaking to them in Cohdopian; neither of them was fluent in English, and chances were that they did not understand the exchange between Quercus and Cadmium.

Moments later, only he and the other man were left in the living room. Quercus turned back to him. "You'll have to forgive me for my bluntness, but you do not look Borginian."

The younger man didn't seem bothered. "But I am. I was born and raised here, and so was my father before me. It is true, though, that my family's roots are not in this country; my grandfather came from the Republic of Reijam."

Quercus raised an eyebrow. "That makes you the product of _two_ countries with a long history of grudge and hatred against mine. I must say your willingness to cooperate surprises me even more now."

The man's jaw clenched for just a moment. "What choice did I have? You made it clear you'd reveal my role in the previous smuggling to my country's police if I didn't cooperate. Besides…" he paused and walked up to a framed picture on the wall. He took it off the wall to reveal a small safe, and began putting in the combination to open it.

"Besides?" Quercus urged him on. He never appreciated it when someone started a sentence and left him waiting to hear the rest.

Cadmium took a few more moments to reply. "I may be no shrinking violet, sir, but letting a child die is simply wrong. I'm father to a child who's perhaps ten months younger than your Crown Princess," he said, finally opening the safe and reaching inside to take something inside – a small glass jar with the Borginian cocoons inside. "Besides," he added somewhat thoughtfully, staring down at the jar in his hands "my wife… she was Cohdopian, you see."

The mournful note in his tone did not escape Quercus. "I take it she died," he said, reaching out to take the jar. The other man nodded, handing it to him.

"Yes. In childbirth, last year. My daughter and I are alone now."

"My condolences," Quercus said quietly, though most of his attention was now focused on the small cocoons inside the jar. "There are three cocoons," he said, mildly surprised "the agreement was for two."

Cadmium nodded. "I know, but smuggling one more cocoon made no difference. I figured out you wouldn't mind the possibility of making more of the cure, should the need arise. It might just spare us another war like this one," a pause "your army is bombing whole cities to the ground as we speak."

"I know. I was unwilling to give the order, but I needed the attention of this country's army to be completely taken elsewhere. I'll have the bombings ceasing as soon as I'm beyond the border with these," he added, slipping the jar into a pocket in his coat "you have my word."

Cadmium gave him a small nod. "Thank you," he said, and he seemed about to add something else when Quercus' two men walked back into the room.

"All's clear, sir. No one else but us and the napping kid. Didn't wake her up."

Quercus nodded. "Good. We're done here, then," he turned back to Cadmium "you'll have the rest of your payment as soon as the cocoons are on Cohdopian so-"

"SIR!" A cry came from the radio on of his men was holding, cutting him off – it was the voice of one of the men he had left outside. "Sir, the enemy is here! The enemy is-"

There were screams and the sound of shooting and the radio and then nothing but bursts of static followed, but there was no need of the radio to hear the shouts and the screams that were coming from outside. Quercus pushed Cadmium aside to walk to the window, just enough to take a look outside. There were at least a two dozen soldiers in front of the house, and no matter how much the eight men he had left outside tried to hold them back – they were hopelessly outnumbered, and some had already fallen; it would be over in a minute.

"There are at least ten more of them on the other side," one of his men growled, walking away from a window on the opposite side of the room "they must have the house surrounded. Did you sold us out, you Borginian bastard?"

"I- no! I didn't… I had no idea…!" the man turned to look at Quercus. He looked shocked and every bit as surprised as they were. "I don't know how-"

"That doesn't matter now," Quercus cut him off, turning his attention back to his men "use the radio. I want all available air forces within range to provide support immediately," he said. Close as they were to the border, help would be there in mere minutes; they were going to have to hold them off until then.

The man immediately obeyed, and over his shouting in the radio, Quercus could hear that the shouts and screams outside had almost stopped – his men had been overwhelmed, and the enemy was certainly about to head for them next. "We have to hold them off as long as we can," he said, reaching to take out his pistol "you, take the rifle and go-"

And he was once again interrupted, this time by the deafening sound of a machine gun and then that of shattering glass. He instinctively ducked. "Stay down – DOWN!" he screamed, and his men did so, flattening themselves on their stomach to avoid the bullets that whistled above them. And the fire didn't stop, it wouldn't stop, and after a few moments Quercus knew that, not knowing how many men were inside the house, they wouldn't try to approach without making sure they'd kill at least the most part of them.

"Help had better come quickly – if given enough time to, they will crush this house to the ground to keep us from getting home with the cure," Quercus growled. He caught sight of someone crawling close to him and turned, assuming it was one of his men… only to find himself staring at a half-crushed mess of bone and blood and brains that had once been a man's face.

For a moment – just a moment – the memory of Papilio Palaeono's bloodied and semi-crushed face after his first battle made it back into his memory; then the man's bloody hand grasped the front of his shirt, and he looked down at him to see he was struggling to speak. He was still alive, but not for long: his wounds would kill him in a minute at most.

"M… my d-daughter…" he managed to gurgle, barely even audible over the noise made by machine-guns and the bullets flying above them to hit the walls and furniture and anything that wasn't on the ground "g-get her a-away… p-please…!"

Quercus stared at him. "Your daughter?" he repeated, having completely forgotten about the child's presence until that instant. There was a child in there with them, a little girl, and even assuming she wasn't dead yet then she would never survive the moment their reinforcement arrived, when their air force would start bombing to give them a chance to make it out. If they didn't bring the child with them, then… then yet another little girl would lay dead beneath the remains of her own house, like many Borginian children had already during those days – by his order.

Like _Laurie_ had died.

The bombings he had ordered had been a necessary evil, and he hadn't been _there_ when Laurie and the rest of his family had died – but no he was right where he _should_ be, and this time he'd make a difference. Quercus clenched his jaw. "Where? Where is she?"

"S-second door… to the right…" Cadmium wheezed through a mouthful of blood, his voice nothing but a whisper "p-please…!"

And that was it, that was all he could say before his grip slackened and his hand fell on the ground. A shudder passed through his body and then he lay still. It was over. He was gone.

But the child could still be alive, Quercus thought, the child was still _there_.

"General! Where are you going?" one of Quercus' men shouted as he saw him start crawling to the door leading to the hallway, low on his stomach to avoid the bullets.

"We're taking the child with us," Quercus yelled back, not stopping for a moment. Once in the hallway he allowed himself to stand and walk thanks to the lack of windows, and he heard it as soon as he approached the door Cadmium had told him about – the crying of a child.

Quercus clenched his jaw, then kicked the door open and threw himself on the floor. It turned out to be a wise move: there was a window in the room, already shattered by the bullets, and while the shards of grass cutting his elbows and chest and stomach weren't precisely pleasant it was still better than being hit by the bullets that flew above him. It looked like those bastards were keeping every side of the house under crossfire. How much time was it taking for their air forces to get there?

_They'll be here soon. They have to be. Not take the child and get ready to leave as soon as you get a chance_.

Yes, the child – she was in there, no doubt, and she was alive, because she kept crying so loudly that not even the crossfire could cover her cries. Quercus looked around. What before the attack had been a little girl's room now looked much like a battlefield, but he paid no attention at the devastation surrounding him, not when his gaze fell on the far corner: huddled against the wall, right next to a fallen crib, was a crying child – one that could be a year old at the very most. She was curled into a tight ball, eyes shut, and kept screaming and screaming and screaming, but she didn't seem wounded: Quercus could see no blood on her tiny pyjamas. She was probably just terrified, and Quercus knew right away she wasn't going to move towards him; the sharp glasses between them didn't help matters at all. If he wanted to get her out of there, he as going to have to cross the room.

"Just for _once_, can't _anything_ be easy?" Quercus growled under his breath, the he began crawling across the room, the noise of machine-guns deafening; he would later think he may have gone insane hadn't he been used to it.

He had almost reached the child when an especially long shard of glass pierced his arm through the sleeve, getting a loud curse out of him. The little girl – who hadn't even noticed him approaching – stopped crying at once and turned to stare at him, tear-filled brown eyes wide and a look of fear and surprise on her freckled face. Freckles, he thought somewhat confusedly, she had _freckles_. Just like Laurie did, and like Daphne, and…

"Fate has some twisted sense of humour," he growled, gritting his teeth against the pain and crawling closer. He reached out for her, and she let out a shriek and scrambled back against the wall, clearly terrified by that blood-covered stranger with torn clothes who had appeared in her room just as the world seemed to be falling down.

But, while it was a very normal reaction for a terrified child, Quercus had no patience left. "Come here, damn you!" he barked, gritting his teeth against the pain as another shard of glass pierced through the skin on his stomach, but she wouldn't move any closer – she'd just stay pressed against the wall, staring at him in confusion and fear. Quercus was about to snap again when a sudden, rumbling noise reached his ears, covering the sound of shooting and filling the whole damn world – that of the engines of attack planes.

The shooting stopped and some screams were heard, and Quercus had barely enough time to hear what one of his men was shouting from the living room – "_they're here, General, reinforcements are here_!" – before hell broke loose.

The sound of the bombs falling on the enemies outside was terrible, deafening, and even though he knew the house was not the target for now – even though he knew the target now were the men around it so that he and his men could get away from there – hadn't it been for his experience and self-control Quercus may have just given in to blind panic. So that was that what being inside a house while bombs were falling felt like? Was this the terror his family had gone through before the end, the same terror that Borginian civilians were now feeling by his own order?

_No. Don't think, not now. Just go. Take the child and go. GO!_

And Quercus did just that: he reached to grab the little girl, stood up and _ran_, back into the hallway and then in the living room.

"Sir!" one of his men – the only one left, for Quercus could see the other's motionless body on the floor, covered with blood – yelled as soon as he saw him. "Sir, the enemy is looking for cover – he have to try to escape now that we're no longer surrounded, before any bomb hits the house!"

"I know that," Quercus said, walking up to him with the child still in his arms "the backdoor – it's not a long run to the woods, and there is the truck waiting for us there. Let's get moving."

The next minutes would always be a blur in Quercus' mind. He remembered kicking the door open, remembered running, but he could never recall exactly what he saw or heard or thought at the time – all he could do was keeping his grip on the little girl firm and _run_.

His next clear memory would be that of stopping right into the woods, breathing heavily and feeling as though his chest was on fire. He leant against a tree and drew in a few deep breaths, then he turned to look up the hill. The Cohdopian planes were still flying over it, and several men lay dead on the devastated hillside – and who knew how many more lay on the other side, hidden from his view like the sun, once again covered by black, thick smoke.

"The sun has gone out," murmured, but he was barely paying attention to it. No, what he couldn't tear his eyes from weren't the planes or the bodies or the smoke – it was the heap of smoking ruins on top of the hill. The house was no more, collapsed on itself and burying the dead men inside beneath its rubbles – but among the bodies there wasn't that of a little girl, not that time.

"Not this time," he heard himself muttering, eyes fixed on the ruins. He finally tore his gaze away from them and looked down at the child in his arms. She was quiet now, no longer crying, but she was clearly terrified, keeping her little face hidden against his bloodied shirt and refusing to pull back. Her pyjamas was stained with blood now – his own, and that of her father. The thought sickened him for some reason, but he forced himself to ignore the sensation. His reached with one hand to touch the pocket of his coat, and he sighed quietly when he felt the glass jar the cocoons were into through the fabric. It looked like he had managed to save more than just one child that day.

"General Alba, are you-"

"I'm fine. I can walk," he cut his man off , adjusting his grip on the child so that she'd be sitting in the crook of his arm – her face wouldn't leave the folds of his shirt. He reached to put a hand on her back and nodded at the other man. "Let's head to the truck. I won't feel safe until we're on Cohdopian soil and the cocoons have been sent to the capital."

His subordinate, a captain, nodded. "Yessir," he said, some weariness showing in his voice. They walked through the woods and to the truck on foot of the mountain in complete silence – a silence only broken by the increasingly distant sound of planes.

Their guide was gone, but they still had a map of the area and a compass, so they could tell where they should head. They walked for nearly a couple of hours, during which the child first began crying again and then fell asleep against Quercus' blood-stained shirt, some curious mixture between hiccups and sobs leaving her sleeping for from time to time. Neither man spoke much, nor they really tried to do much to soothe her: they were both too tired to even try, and the few words she may be able to understand would most likely be Boginian – a language neither of them spoke.

"Do you… want me to carry her form now on, sir?" his subordinate asked after a while, finally breaking the silence "you must be tired."

Quercus shook his head, his grip on the sleeping child tightening without him even realizing it. "The day I won't be able to walk carrying a little child, I promise I'll wrap myself in a shroud and crawl into my grave," was all he had said "but it won't be today, captain. Just keep moving."

And that had ended any attempt and conversation until they reached their destination.

The truck was precisely where they knew it would be, with its tank full and ready to get them across the mountain range and back on Cohdopian soil, taking advantage of the fact pretty much all of the Borginian forces were occupied elsewhere – with the Cohdopian army into their borders already, why would they bother to watch them? Of course, things were slightly more complicated now that their presence had somehow been detected, but the Cohdopian army knew what their next move would be, and Quercus was confident that the air forces would cover them as they left.

"This truck seems… rather large, doesn't it, sir?"

Quercus nodded absentmindedly. He knew exactly what his subordinate meant: that truck was large enough for eleven people… but only the two of them two of them had made it back to take it. Them, and a child.

"They died so that our future Queen may live. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten," Quercus finally head himself saying. It was only a half-truth – most people would never even know their names, because they were simple soldiers and their life just did not matter enough to be remembered by anyone of importance – but it seemed to be enough for the other man, who turned his attention on the little girl.

"What about her, sir?"

Quercus didn't reply right away; he stayed quiet for a few moments, briefly turning to glance in the direction they had come from, where he knew the remains of her house and father were. "We'll bring her with us for time being," he finally said "we certainly cannot leave her on the mountains. Once we're safe in Cohdopia, we'll try to find out whether or not she has relatives we can return her to once this war is over," he added, gesturing for him to get on the diver's seat while he climbed on the back of the truck so that he could lie down – he truly needed to – and try to somewhat tend to the cuts. He put the child down and wrapped her in a blanket someone had been thoughtful enough to leave there with food and water before sitting next to her.

He took a water bottle and drank a few gulps of water before handing it to his subordinate, who finished it in only moments. Quercus supposed that the bright side of having been decimated was that the three of them had plenty of supplies now. "Let's get going," he finally said, finally allowing himself to sound as tired as he felt "we have wasted enough time as it is."

The other man nodded tiredly and started the engine without saying anything at all.

* * *

><p>Night fell after only a few hours of travel, but the truck kept going, even if it had to go slowly because the roads on the mountains were tricky and they had to keep the headlights off, only relying on the clear night and full moon. They both knew that spending more time in Borginia would be an useless risk, and that the cover of the night was their best ally at the moment.<p>

The drive was as silent as their march to the truck had been, and as darkness fell Quercus found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He leant against the side of the truck and shut his eyes, thinking that perhaps he could allow himself a few hours' sleep. And he was about to do just that when a gurgle reached his ears and then something – someone – began yanking at the folds of his shirt. Well, it looked like someone had just awakened, and Quercus couldn't say he was fond on her timing.

He sighed and opened his eyes to glance down at the child in the dim light they had inside the truck. She was sitting up next to him, a small hand still grasping his shirt and her large brown eyes staring up at him with unconcealed wonder. It was almost disturbing how normal she looked, as though she hadn't just been through hell, as though her clothes weren't stained with Quercus' blood and that of her own father. Perhaps children had a way to block out horrible experiences that adult had not, he thought – especially since she certainly hadn't grasped at all the fact that her father was gone and so was her house; her young age had spared her the pain of the loss. For a moment, Quercus almost envied her.

"So, you're awake," he muttered, though knowing she certainly wouldn't understand a word of what he said.

"Sir?"

"I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to…" Quercus paused when he realized just how ridiculous that sounded "I mean, the child is awake."

"Oh," the other man glanced at them through the rear-view mirror, and cracked a small smile "why, hello there, kid."

She barely turned in his direction at all, though: she kept staring up at Quercus.

And staring. And _staring_.

After a while, it felt pretty damn unnerving.

"How come I have the feeling she's expecting me to do something?" Quercus muttered with a grimace.

"Well… maybe she's hungry, sir. I mean, she's very little, and surely hasn't eaten in several hours."

Now that was a fair point. Quercus sighed and turned to look at the small stack of supplies on the truck's floor – mostly canned food and bottles of water. "Are canned beans anywhere near suitable for a one year old?" he asked, honestly having no idea in hell what a child of about a year of age should eat.

"Well, my son quite liked beans when he was one," was the answer "I guess you should, uh, mash the beans a bit, sir. So that she can eat. Unless she has more teeth than my kid had when he was her age."

Why, wasn't that sounding better and better, Quercus thought with a snort. "I sure hope she does," he muttered before unceremoniously reaching to grab the child's face and turning it upwards, so that he could take a look. "Open your- ow!" he let out a yelp when the child shrieked at the treatment and literally _slapped_ his hand away, right onto a rather deep cut.

"Everything alright, sir?"

"You keep driving. I can handle a child," Quercus seethed before glaring down at her. It was the kind of glare reserved to the most incompetent soldiers, the kind of glare that had made grown men pale and look at their boots in shame, the kind of glare every soldier of Cohdopia _dreaded_ getting, so it would certainly work with her, too. And at first it looked like it did: her angry scowl stayed there another moment or two, then it changed into something else and for a moment Quercus was sure she was about to start bawling, and then she'd perhaps have learned her lesson and just obey and never again _dare _to-

The little girl burst into giggles.

Quercus blinked. Now that wasn't _precisely_ the reaction he had been meaning to get. At all. But, on the bright side, now that she was laughing he could now clearly see how many teeth she had – not nearly enough to eat anything that hadn't been mashed beforehand. _Yet_ another downside. "And all for some damned _cocoons_," he muttered to no one in particular before opening the _damned_ can and looking for something – a fork, anything – that he could use to mash the _damned_ beans and make that _damned_ child eat.

A weak chuckle came from the driver's seat. "The things we do for our country, eh, General?"

Quercus' answer came as a growl. "_Indeed_."

The task, however, wasn't quite as much of a hassle as Quercus had feared: the beans were easy to mash inside the can, and the child was hungry enough to eat most of it. At least he was spared the struggle, Quercus thought when he finally put away the can and the water bottle and rested back against the side of the truck. He reached into his pocket to pull out the glass jar. In the dim light he could see the cocoons inside, so small and insignificant – and yet to vital to his nation, and enough of a reason to start a war.

No, he thought, that wasn't accurate; it was the life of Crown Princess Wilkiea that had been enough of a reason to start a war, because no matter what weak people would say about each and every life being important – _her_ life was worth far more of those of soldiers and civilians who perished in the conflict. Because they were expendable, as he used to be, while she… she had never been. She was one of those who _mattered_ by birthright.

A small gurgling sound snapped him from his thoughts. He looked down to see that the little girl was trying to reach up for the glass jar. He smirked weakly and lowered his hand to let her touch it. "You like this?" he muttered, watching as she poked it with a curious expression on her little freckled face "this what this whole mess was about. A cocoon. Now this is a funny joke," he once again leant back against the wall and sighed, "feel free to laugh at it."

But she did not laugh, not that time. Instead, she yawned and crawled closer. Quercus blinked. "Wait, what…?" he began, but didn't try to pull back as she under his arm and curled up against his side, shifting a little to find a comfortable position; Quercus supposed he didn't make much of a pillow. "As you said, the things we do for our country," he muttered, shifting to rest his back more comfortably against the wall before laying blanket on the sleepy child and on the lower half of his body.

Eyes fixed on the road ahead as he kept driving, the other man chuckled. "Well, to be honest I doubt our country has anything to gain from the fact she's alive, sir. You brought her with us to save her, after all, not because it had anything to do with the mission."

For a moment Quercus was tempted to snap at him to keep his mouth shut and just focus on getting them back home – because he knew _nothing_ of the reason why he couldn't leave that child to die in a bombing, nothing at all, and he had _no right_ to speak – but in the end he simply hummed in agreement, hoping it would end the conversation. Fat chance.

"I wonder what her name is."

"I see no point in wondering. We have no way of knowing it," Quercus pointed out sharply.

"Of course, sir, I know that. But…" the man paused "it just feels so kind of… aseptic. I mean, just calling her 'the child' and all. Maybe we could come up with a name, at least as long as she's with us. You saved her after all, so perhaps you could… you know… pick one?"

_Laurie_.

Quercus hastily chased away the sudden thought and snorted. "I didn't have you pegged as the sentimental type, captain," he said, but he did turn to look down at the now sleeping child. His gaze fell on the jar he was still holding in his right hand. "Chrysalis," he finally muttered.

"Sir?"

"Chrysalis," he repeated "since we went through all this because of some cocoons, I'd say it's fitting enough. It's only temporary in any case. We might find out what her name is later on, if we find any relatives," he added, finally resting back and closing his eyes. He couldn't yet know that they would never find out the little girl's real name or find any relatives; nor he could know that 'Chrysalis' would be only the second name of a long series for a child who would grow up to have many names, and yet none at all.


	18. Hero's Welcome

_A/N: Indochine, sorry I didn't reply to your review just yet; I had a bad combination of busy days and internet problems. I'll answer as soon as I have some things sorted out, I promise. Hope the chapter will make up for the delay._

* * *

><p>"…died, all of them. Only General Alba and I…"<p>

"…lucky to be alive…"

"…fell asleep on the way. Nothing serious, but we could both use a doctor, and there is a child…"

"…the cocoons, General Alba has them…"

The voices reached Quercus in his sleep, causing his mind to finally stir from deep within a black hole on unconsciousness; he would never be able to recall any other time he had needed sleep that much, and any other time his usually light sleep had turned into a deep slumber that not even the jolt of the truck stopping had disrupted. Even as he heard the voices outside the truck, he needed a few moments to _truly_ awaken.

He opened his eyes into full awareness just in time to hear someone cracking a joke about dragons guarding eggs – a joke that died in the soldier's throat the moment Quercus turned to the end of the truck, whose door was open to see two soldiers looking inside. "Is something the matter, Lieutenant?" he asked sharply.

The man's face immediately reddened. "I… no, sir. Sorry, sir," he said, saluting "it is good to see you here. We feared for your safety when-"

"It takes more than that to kill me," Quercus cut him off. He pushed the blanked off himself, laid it on the still sleeping child and climbed down the truck. He stood, taking a few moments to stretch – my, was he already getting too old to sleep sitting? – before looking around. It was early morning, and they were exactly where they were supposed to be, in a small military facility hidden among the mountains on the Cohdopian side of the border. Quercus couldn't help but spare a quick glance to the west where, he knew, lay the remains of his hometown – and his family. There was another house left in ruins now, not too far away across those mountains… but this time no child had been crushed into its remains.

_Not this time._

"Good morning, sir!"

Quercus recoiled and turned to see the captain waving at him, a tired but satisfied smile on his face. It occurred to him just then that he had been driving the whole night. "Captain," he greeted him with a nod.

"It's good to be home, isn't it?" the man gave a small chuckle "I could have sworn even the air I breathed got better when we passed the border."

"No place like home, I suppose," Quercus said somewhat stiffly. He turned to the other men. "Is the plane ready?" he asked. The way it had been arranged, there was to be a plane there, ready to take off for the capital with the cocoons as soon as possible.

"Yessir. It's ready to take off any moment now," a soldier said, then stood on attention "I'm the pilot, sir. I'll be honoured to bring you and the cure to our future Queen."

Quercus shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to deliver the cure alone," he said "I'm staying behind."

The man blinked in surprise. "But, sir…"

"No but. I want the plane to take flight right away, and I'm certainly in no condition to show myself into the palace," Quercus said, meaningfully gesturing at his torn, bloodied civilian attire "I need some stitches, a hot shower, food and a uniform – all of which would only delay the moment our Crown Princess and her brother can have the cure. Not to mention I have some orders to give before I head back," he added "we may have the cure, but the war is still going."

And I promised someone I'd stop the bombings on civilians as soon as I could, he almost added, but stopped himself just in time. Instead he just reached into his pocket and took out the jar containing two cocoons – the third was safely in his other pocket for now… just in case. "Here," he said, handing the jar to the pilot "take this and go immediately."

The pilot took the jar and nodded. "Yessir," he said before turning to leave with quick steps, the jaw clutched to his chest as though it where his firstborn child. Speaking of which…

"There is a child in the truck," he added "see if anyone here has anything clean she can wear and feed her."

"A child?" one of the soldiers repeated in confusion "a Borginian child?"

The man looked surprised, which in turn did not surprise _him_ – since he had believed for so long that Borginians were responsible for his family's death, his deep-rooted hatred against Borginia was well known. They certainly had to be wondering why he, of all people, would go through the trouble of saving the life of a child of Borginia.

_If they only knew._

But they couldn't know, never would, for Queen Luzula had ordered for Vulneraria's business to stay a secret and he wouldn't go against her orders, not _again_. In the end it mattered very little whether or not the truth was known: _he_ knew the truth and had gotten his revenge; that settled it.

"Yes, a Borginian child. She's the daughter of the man who had the cocoons smuggled for us. He died in the attack and asked for me to save her, and that I did. Cohdopia does pay its debts."

"We wouldn't have had to start the war if Borginia did as well," one of the men muttered grudgingly to another, clearly thinking he was out of earshot "my cousin died in battle last week because of their refusal to hand over a damn cocoon. I sure wouldn't had gone through the trouble of granting a Borginian bastard's last wish."

Quercus gritted his teeth. "You!" he barked, causing the soldier to recoil and stood to attention "what is it you just said?"

The man paled. "I… I was just…"

"Let me tell you something, sergeant," Quercus said harshly, causing the man to shut his mouth "her Borginian father died so that our future Queen may live. He did more for this country than you probably ever will in your _life_, and we _owe_ him. Not to mention that the child's mother was Cohdopian; she is one of our blood as well. If no relatives are found for us to return her to, I'll personally see that she gets the best education she could possibly get in Cohdopia – and _you_ shall refrain from making idiotic remarks, unless you're looking forward to being demoted and spend the rest of your days mopping the floor of the barracks. Have I made myself clear?"

The man swallowed. "I… yessir."

"Good," Quercus muttered. He turned to the other men. "I was under the impression I had given you an order. Bathe her, get her something clean to wear and feed her. I won't have her into clothes stained with her father's blood one second more."

"Yessir."

Quercus watched them as they headed to the truck and finally allowed himself a tired sigh. Perhaps he was getting old, for he felt like he _truly_ needed a clean uniform, a meal, a hot bath and stitches – not necessarily in the order.

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later – after a long hot shower and a decent meal, with his wounds tended and wearing a clean uniform – Quercus felt remarkably better. The stitched pulled uncomfortably, yes, and his back was subtly letting him know it hadn't appreciated the position he had slept into that night, but he did feel more like a reasonable fac-simile of a human being. Considering that he had pretty much been to hell and back, it was something.<p>

While small, the facility he was into had a decently-sized lunch room. That was exactly where he found the child with some of his men. Not that it was hard, since all that he had to do was following the sound of delighted giggles. They sounded almost eerie to his ears – the thought someone, anyone could be that happy and careless after losing their house and family was alien to him. Then again, she was so young – too young to understand – and she could forget what had happened. She could forget the day the sun had gone out.

He never could.

Once again, he envied her. His envy, however, was replaced by mild amusement when he stepped into the lunch room to see some of his men around the table the little girl – bathed and clean wearing some baby clothes that hell knew where they could find in the middle of mountains – was sitting onto, giggling and waving her hands, clearly delighted by their attention. They were all over her, apparently, talking and trying to get her attention and laughing at her antics. What _was_ it with that child that could apparently turn expert soldiers into a bunch of mother hens?

"Like this, uh? Here, try to hold it…"

"Hey, what _the hell_ are you thinking? You can't just… put that gun away!"

"Sheesh, relax! It's unloaded, what do you guys think? Besides-"

"You're supposed to _always_ handle your gun like it's _loaded_, captain," Quercus thundered, causing all men to wince and stand to attention as one. That seemed to catch the little girl by surprise, for she just sat there staring at them with wide eyes. Then her gaze fell on him, and she gave a wide, almost completely toothless smile. Not one to be easily intimidated, Quercus had to give her that.

"I… I'm sorry, sir, I was just…"

"Yes, we were…"

"Babysitting?" Quercus suggested, an eyebrow raised in mild amusement "I believe my orders were to bathe her, dress her and feed her. Entertaining her wasn't on the list."

One of his men cleared his throat. "Well, we… uhm… we simply figured out we couldn't just leave her alone into some room. She could get scared and, uh… we thought she's been through enough already."

That wasn't precisely bad thinking, Quercus had to admit… but at the same time he had the feeling the whole excuse would have been more believable hadn't the child been giggling all the way through it. "I see. Well then, I suppose you can look after her for a while longer, then. I have some things to settle, so I'll won't be leaving for the capital in a couple of days."

"Oh. So… she'll be coming with you, sir? And then what?"

There was a worried not in the man's voice that did not escape Quercus. "Someone at the palace will look after her while we try to find out whether or not she has any relatives left. If not, then…" Quercus paused, and looked at the child "…then I'll send her to the best private institution in Cohdopia. I doubt Borginia would do anything to take back yet one more war orphan," he added grimly, thinking back of the bombings on civilians he had ordered himself "and our country has a debt to her father, after all, so if it comes to that I'll make sure she has the best education Cohdopia can offer."

"Oh," the relief on everyone's faces was hard to miss "that's… generous of you, sir."

"Hmpf. Just make sure she doesn't hurt herself as she's trying to do just now," Quercus said, and all the men turned to see that the little girl was crawling closer and closer to the edge of the table.

"Ah. Oops," one of them said sheepishly, reaching to take her in his arms "sorry, sir. We'll be more careful."

Quercus gave a brief chuckle. "I should hope so," he said, turning to leave.

"And… uh, sir?"

He turned to glance back above his shoulder. "What now?"

"We were wondering what her name is. She has one, right?"

A pause. Quercus glanced at the child, who looked back at him, and his gaze lingered on her freckled little face before he turned away. "Chrysalis," was all he said before leaving, unaware of the fact the little girl had raised a small hand to wave at him as he walked out of the lunchroom.

* * *

><p>It took a few days for Quercus to leave for the capital; enough time for him to analyse the situation and give the troops on the front new orders to follow after stopping the bombing on civilian targets: they may have obtained the cure, but they were still in the middle of a war they could not afford to lose. However, Quercus was rather confident they wouldn't: it looked like the Borginian government had underastimated them, as they had underestimated what they could be capable to do to get the cure to their Crown Princess.<p>

They probably hadn't even thought Cohdopia would start a war to save her, and it had been a mistake. How foolish of them, one of Quercus' men had said one day, still being unable to understand Cohdopians after so many years of wars.

Quercus did agree that they had been foolish, of course, but he was certain there had to be more to it than just that. From the start he had come to the conclusion, and High General Durandii seemed to agree with him, that the Borginian government had expected Zheng Fa or Reijam – or both – to aid them in a possible war. It hadn't happened, though, because while Reijam was just now recovering from a severe economical instability, Zheng Fa was equally unstable politically-wise: its current president's term was coming to its end, and with people of Zheng Fa clearly expressing their adversion to any more militaty campaigns he had not wanted to take the risk of a highly unpopular decision while so close to his possible re-election. In the end they hadn't understimated the Cohdopians' willingness to war – they had overestimated their chances of getting help against them.

What imbeciles. They had brought it on himself, Quercus had thought, with their poor decisions and arrogance. He had only done his duty to ensure the Crown Princess' safety, he would tell himself. He had done what he was supposed to do and nothing more, and only Borginia was responsible for that one war, for all deaths – civilian or otherwise – that it had wrought; not him, not really.

_It was my duty._

_I did what I had to do._

_It was a decision someone had to make._

As he lay awake on the night train that was bringing him back to the capital, Quercus could almost make himself believe it. Not that he felt guilty: he didn't, and that was precisely what bothered him. The thought of involving civilians into war actions was something that had repulsed him for so many years, and he had not forgotten that his first cold-blooded murder, than of a captain of the army of Reijam, had been out of anger at the thought that man was going to lead an attack to a seemingly defenceless village. Ordering those bombings had meant crossing his own line, one he had never before even considered crossing, and the fact he felt nothing about it was... unnerving. He was supposed to feel something about it, was he not?

Had Vulneraria felt nothing at all, too, when he had ordered for his hometown to be crushed and-

Quercus let out a growl and shook his head to chase away the thought. He should stop thinking of that – he was nothing like that man. What was done as done, and there had been a reason beyond his own advantage to do what he did. It was for Queen Luzula and the country that he had done it, so that they could get the only cure for Crown Princess Wilkiea on time. And that she had - both her and her brother had taken the cure and were now fine. They were safe, they would live, and it was mainly thanks to him. Of course he didn't feel guilty – he had no reason to.

No reason.

* * *

><p>"I knew you could do it, my boy! <em>I knew it<em>!"

Pressed uncomfortably against High General Durandii's prominent belly by a rather crushing bear-hug, Quercus silently prayed none of the royal guards would walk into that particular hallway now. "I'm flattered, sir," he wheezed "if you could please unhand me..."

A laugh. "Of course, of course," the older man said, finally letting go of him "my apologies, I suppose I was too... enthusiastic after all."

"No need to apologize, sir," Quercus said before smiling a little "just never do it again."

"Why, I should hope I'll never have to be so incredibly relieved over something. I've been worried sick until news came that the antidote was finally being made," Durandii said and, indeed, Quercus could see he still looked old and tired, as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep for a long time. He truly was fiercely devoted to the royal family; Quercus wondered, not for the first time, _how_ close he had exactly been to the previous queen back in the day.

"I hope both yourself and Her Highness are more at ease now that both Princess Wilkiea and Prince Delphinium are fine," Quercus said, following the old man down the hallway leading to the queen's quarters.

Durandii chuckled. "Oh, we certainly are. Although I cannot say Her Highness has been getting as much sleep as she should. She's spent the last couple of nights up, too, watching over her children as they keep getting better," a pause, then the old man turned to face Quercus "once again, I thank you – and not only on Cohdopia's behalf, but personally as well. Her Highness is a strong person and a great monarch, but losing her children would have killed her inside."

Quercus thought back of his sister, only for a moment. "I understand. But there is no need to thank me, sir. I only carried on my duty. Saving the royal children was my priority."

"You went far beyond what we may have expected of you," Durandii said seriously, then, "speaking of children, I heard you saved a child of Borginia and brought her with you."

"Word travels fast, I see."

"Well, it is… unusual, I must say. I heard you've been trying to track down any family she may have."

Quercus nodded. "That I have, but I haven't been successful so far. We do not know what her father's name truly was: what he gave us was an alias. And for now, asking the authorities of Borginia to look into it is most certainly out of question," he gave a small chuckle "I know that her mother was Cohdopian, but nothing else; not her name, not where she exactly was from… nothing."

"I see. It looks like finding out whether she has any family left and if so tracking them down is going to be near impossible," Durandii said thoughtfully "what are you planning to do in case you don't succeed?"

"In that case, I'll make sure she'll get a good education here in Cohdopia. She's also one of us, after all. I'll find the best possible private institution for her to live and be educated into."

The older man raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning on adopting the child, General Alba?"

Quercus actually laughed at those words. "Good Lord, no!" he said, waving a dismissing hand "if it comes to that, I suppose I'll be her legal tutor. But not her father, never that," he added, a more serious note in his voice "she already has one. And I've long since learned that what is lost cannot be replaced."

The older man gave him a somewhat quizzical glance, but said nothing to it. Instead, he just stopped in front of the door leading to the quarters where the royal children were. "Her Highness requested to see you alone, so I suppose I'll get back to my own duties. Once again, thank you," he added, putting a hand on his shoulder before turning to he guards in front of the door. "Her Highness requested his presence. Let him through."

The guards immediately stepped aside and opened the large, decorated double doors. Quercus gave Durandii a nod before stepping in. The doors closed heavily behind him, but he didn't even take notice: he was busy staring at the woman coming out of a door on the other end of a short, richly decorated hallway.

Queen Luzula was clad in her usual royal garments, but even those couldn't hide how tired she looked, how unusually frail – the kind of frailness that only shows into someone who spent night after night awake, and more than a few crying, and is only barely starting to recover. She had let no one see her in that state, no doubt – she was proud and fully aware of how important acting strong was – but he doubted anyone who took one look at her face could miss how hard the whole ordeal had been to her. But now it was over.

"Your Highness," he began, starting to sink on one knee, but he didn't get a chance to, because one moment later – she was so fast, how could she move so damn fast? – he was thrown back by her weight against him, and her arms lacing themselves around his neck.

"I… wha…?" he stammered, taken aback, but he fell quiet when Queen Luzula spoke.

"Thank you," she said, her voice shaking, her face pressed in the crook of his shoulder "thank you."

Quercus exhaled and relaxed, the surprise wearing off. "I told you I'd return with the cure or wouldn't return at all, Your Highness," he murmured, reaching to hold her back "and you also know I always come back. I have the Devil's own luck, as you once said," he smirked "although I must say that of all the hero's welcomes I've received in my life – and there have been several – this one has to be the most enthusiastic."

There was a sudden snort against his shoulder and her back shuddered, and it took Quercus a moment to realize she was laughing. "Why, you smug, arrogant… you bumptious…" another laugh, and she finally pulled back, reaching up to dry her eyes "I should have known you'd say something like that."

Quercus chuckled. "You've come to know me too well, Your Highness," he said, then, "you should allow yourself some rest."

She sighed. "I know, I know," she muttered "I keep hearing that a lot, so no need for you to start playing the mother hen as well. The High General has been doing an outstanding job at that already."

"We're simply concerned for your well-being, Your Highness. These last weeks haven't been easy on you. Besides," he added, reaching to take her hand "this country is at war, and needs to see its monarch strong again. We're certainly going to win, yes, but your people need a tangible sign of that. "

She held back his hand and gave a weak smirk. "Yes, you do have a point. I have thought of that myself. And I have something in mind already – my next public appearance will be in a few days, along with my daughter and son, to show we all are fine. And you will be there."

Quercus blinked. "I will, Your Highness?"

"Yes. You saved the lives of my children, General Alba – that of the future ruler of this country. And you deserve the proper recognition for this achievement," she reached up to brush back some of his hair "in a few day's time there will be a ceremony here, before you leave for the front once again. I hope you can find a spot for yet another medal on that uniform," she added, smiling a little "that will both let everyone see the Crown Princess and I are doing well, and hopefully will get the troop's moral higher."

"Efficient as always, I see," Quercus said with a chuckle before glancing down at his uniform "yes, I suppose I can find a spot or two."

"You had better," Queen Luzula remarked, then she glanced back at the medals gleaming on his chest. "You know, with all the metal you have here already I'm surprised you're not hunching over."

Quercus gave a slight snort. "I'm not yet that old," he muttered, though it was a relief seeing the queen acting some more like herself now: no matter how understandable, any weakness shown from her part gave him an uncomfortable feeling he could not quite define.

* * *

><p>As Queen Luzula had said, the ceremony was held barely days later, at the presence of both Crown Princess Wilkiea and Prince Delphinium. Quercus couldn't help but be a bit amused by the look of wonder on the children's face as they looked at him, and by the fact it wasn't Queen Luzula herself to put the medal – one larger than any other he had that no still living Cohdopian had ever received, he had been informed – on his chest; instead she took the Crown Princess into her arms, and it was the child to appoint them medal on his uniform, her little face scrunched into a focused expression; for a moment before Quercus bowed he and the queen exchanged a glance, and he could see the slightest of smirks curling her lips.<p>

It was uncanny, holding a ceremony like that before the war was even truly over – but, as the queen's reasoning went, holding it then would be a strong signal of the fact the war was would soon be over and that their victory was a given, so what better way could there be to keep the country and troops' moral high? Besides, she had added, it would let their enemies see that they efforts had been in vain, that both the Crown Princess of Cohdopia and her brother had been cured and were now perfectly fine.

And it worked, it truly did: Quercus had barely enough time to travel back to the front lines when the Borginian government asked for peace. It didn't surprise him much, not really – what was the point in fighting a war they were clearly going to lose even now that the cocoons had been taken and the Cohdopian royal family was fine?

Quercus was rather sure that Queen Luzula had been tempted to deny their request and keep hostilities open until Borginia's capital had been turned into dust: its government had been ready to let her children die, after all. But she was too much of an expert politician to let emotions rule her while making such a crucial decision, so she had accepted to have High General Durandii meeting Borginia's president on a neutral ground to negotiate. In mere days they had reached an agreement, and the war was over.

"They were so eager for it to be over that it wasn't too hard to convince them to pay the reparations," Durandii had told him once he was back from the meeting "they knew that they'd lose, so no point in inviting death now that we obtained the cure anyway. They are stupid, but not that much," he had laughed before turning serious once more "also, I did ask for the information you needed; it seems that not even they can figure out who the girl's father truly was. Those living in the same area knew him by just a first name – Cadmium, was it not? – and say he was a very reserved man, having moved there with the infant after his wife had died. Any information there may have been about him was lost in the bombing of the municipality's archives, I'm afraid. No one can tell who he was, and thus tracking down any family is going to be impossible by this point. Speaking of which, the authorities of Borginia believe the child died in the bombing along with her father. I didn't tell them otherwise, but if you want to return the child to her country…"

"No," Quercus had said, shaking his head "she has nothing left there, and I must say I have not heard wonders of the orphanages of Borginia. Not to mention they must be rather full already thanks to me," he had added, some bitterness showing in his voice "I have found an excellent private institution in the capital for her to be educated into. I'll take her there."

And that he did. Of course, he had to become the child's legal tutor to do that, and he knew it could take quite some time to settle such things – but his position allowed him to simplify the process a lot, and in a matter of weeks Chrysalis was a Cohdopian citizen under the tutelage of General Alba, ready to be enrolled into the institution where she would spend the next seventeen years of her life.

"We can guarantee your protégée will receive an outstanding education, sir," the director had told him once Quercus was done signing the necessary papers "you'll receive a regular update on the child's progress. We usually sent out updates once a month, but if you wish to receive them more often, we can-"

"Once a month will be fine," Quercus cut him off, standing up and giving the other man a slight nod "she has little to no personal belonging as for now; I'll send you money so that she can have all that you deem necessary for her. Should you need more than what I gave, do not hesitate to let me know. I'll send someone with the child within the week."

The man looked surprised. "Oh. Aren't you going to bring her here yourself?"

Quercus scowled lightly at the thought. He hadn't seen the child since when he had left the facility among the mountains where he had left her in the care of his men, and for some reason the thought of seeing her again made him uncomfortable. "I don't think it's necessary," was all he said before leaving, not turning to even glance back at the building even once.

Aside from the monthly updates – that would soon turn out to be endless praise for the girls' intelligence and skills, something that would make him feel mildly proud almost against his own will – that would be the last he'd hear of Chrysalis for almost sixteen years.

* * *

><p>"A leave, you say?" Queen Luzula propped herself on an elbow to glance down at him. She ran her fingers through his hair lightly, and he shut his eyes at her touch over the still fresh scar in his scalp, the one Vulneraria had given him. "Perhaps you are getting old, General Alba. What happened to the man who wouldn't take a leave unless ordered to?"<p>

Quercus chuckled, not opening his eyes nor lifting his head form the pillow as he spoke. "I'm not asking for another leave, Your Highness – I'm simply asking to resume the one I interrupted when you called for me. I had a week left; all I ask for is to have that week."

"Does it have to be now?" she asked. There was a moment of silence, and her hand stilled.

_I'll be back to finish the work. I… I promise. So take good care of the plants while I'm away._

"I'd prefer that, yes. What better moment to enjoy a leave than after the end of a war?" he finally said.

She sighed. "Fair enough," she finally said, and resumed stroking his hair "very well, then, you will resume your leave from tomorrow. I suppose business can wait another week, after all."

That finally got Quercus to open his eyes to give her a quizzical glance. "Business?"

Queen Luzula simply shrugged. "There is something Durandii and I have been thinking. Something regarding Vulneraria's connections – if they could be used to the country's advantage once, they may be useful again," she told him, pulling back her head and resting down again, her head on his chest "but it's only an idea so far and, as I said, it can wait one more week."

"Your Highness…."

"Next week," she said, shifting to rest her head more comfortably on his chest, a commanding note in her voice "now sleep, or keep quiet and let _me_ sleep. Your choice."

Quercus sighed and reached to put a hand around her waist. "Yes, Your Highness."


	19. The Three Legged Raven

Quercus had expected Daphne to be eager to get back working on the garden together, and he hadn't been wrong on that. What he hadn't expected, however, were her ceaseless questions about what had happened during his mission, what war was like, how many men had died? And how? Was he wounded? How badly? Could he show her the wounds? Would they scar?

To be honest, Quercus was both taken aback and somewhat bothered by her morbid curiosity over things that, as far as he was concerned, no child should know about.

"And then what happened?" Daphne pressed on once again when he tried to keep his answers vague.

Quercus didn't reply, not right away; he first took a moment to empty the watering can on the roses bush, wondering how come children got so worked up and curious when asking about war and bloodshed: it was a though they thought it was all fun and games rather than pain and blood and death.

He wasn't like that when he was a child himself, he mused: from the little he could recall of his childhood – and it wasn't much, it all was so distant now, like a faded dream or another lifetime he wasn't even supposed to remember – he remembered being a rather peaceful child, one more interested in having long walks or resting in the shade of trees or fishing at the torrent than into tales of war. When other children played war, he would simply settle down to read a book. The only time he could remember touching a weapon before the sun went out and he joined the army was to finish off a fatally wounded boar that had dragged itself onto their property... and even that had taken him an effort, and he had had to shut his eyes before he could shoot it, because he couldn't bear looking at it while pulling the trigger.

Good Lord, he thought, how things had changed. How _he_ had changed. Had there really been a time when he had thought he'd be a lawyer, move to the capital – but in the outskirts, so that he could still have a garden and wouldn't miss the countryside that much – and have a quiet life, and perhaps a wife and children? Yes, there had been, and it felt so unreal now.

"Quercus?"

He winced, snapped from his thoughts by Daphne's voice and her small hand tugging at his trousers, and looked down at her. She was frowning. "You zoned out again," she informed him, and he couldn't tell whether she was annoyed or worried. Maybe both.

"I suppose I did. My apologies, I was thinking of someone I knew," he said quietly before handing her the watering can "go fill this again."

"But you didn't tell me-"

"You've had enough of tales of war," Quercus cut her off somewhat sharply "and I'm growing sick of it. I don't want you to ask any more questions. Go fill the watering can."

Daphne scowled, but she knew better than arguing with him when he used that tone, so in the end she just huffed and grabbed the can. Quercus followed her with his gaze in mild amusement as she stomped into the house. "Look at her ruffling her feathers," he muttered a bit mockingly.

"She'll have forgotten about it in minutes, young old man. You know what she's like by now," Issoria's voice reached him. Quercus turned to glance at her; she had been collecting the laundry she had left to dry under the sun earlier, and she had been so silent all along that he had almost forgotten her presence. Not a surprise, considering that he had had to focus both on gardening and on Daphne's insistent questions.

"You _do_ realize that nickname is getting less and less fitting with each passing day, don't you?" Quercus asked, absentmindedly reaching down to tear a dead leaf off the bush.

Issoria smiled. "I could start calling you middle-aged man, if so you wish."

Quercus made a face. "Fine, fine. Forget I even said anything," he muttered. He turned to glace back at the house to see if Daphne was coming out already, and his eyes fell on several planks stacked against the wall. He had noticed them the previous day already and had wondered about it, but he had forgotten to ask. "What are those for?"

Issoria followed his gaze. "Oh, those? They're for the tree house."

Quercus frowned. "The tree house?" he repeated, something stirring in the back of his mind.

_Only if you swear you're going to build me the best tree house Cohdopia has ever seen when you get back!_

He clenched his teeth for a moment at the memory and forced himself to focus on what Issoria was saying instead. "Yes. Danaus – one of her brothers – promised he'd visit soon and build her one on the branches of that tree," she said, briefly gesturing at the tree in question "but there was a setback, and he won't be able to be back in the village for at least another couple of months. Daphne wasn't too glad about it, but she understood. Eventually," she added with a chuckle, and Quercus could just imagine how irked she had been by the broken promise. He looked at the tree, then at the planks.

_So you forgot! You make a horrible big brother! You promised you'd help me build a tree house before leaving!_

Quercus shook his head as though to get rid of the memory, and when he spoke again his voice sounded distant to his own ears. "I'll do it. Do you have any permeable paint around?"

He got no reply – only silence. He turned back to Issoria to see that she was staring at him with a serious, somewhat saddened expression on her face. "What is it? I asked-"

"It's not for Daphne that you're going to buildit," Issoria said quietly, causing him to shut his mouth "isn't that right?"

Quercus was quiet for a few more moments. "So you remember," he finally said.

"Yes. I remember all that you've told me, young old man. I'm a good listener," she gave a weak smile, then, "we do not have any permeable paint, but there is a store nearby that does sell it."

He nodded, grateful for the fact she had not started arguing, had not asked him to talk some more about it, had not _pitied_ him. "Good," was all he said. He walked to the house to at least wash his hands and face and change his clothes – he was not planning on walking into any store covered in dirt – right when Daphne walked out of it, staggering a little under the weight of the full watering can.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"You'll see," was all Quercus said, walking past her "finish watering the plants and you'll see."

"Does that mean it's a surprise?" she called after him.

"Your intuition will never cease to astonish me," Quercus muttered dryly, and he was almost a little disappointed when no remark came, the sarcasm having clearly gone well over the child's head.

* * *

><p>After several hours of nailing planks while perched on a tree and a fall right on his back from the lower branches of said tree, Quercus was happier to see a bed than he had been in a long, long time. He almost collapsed on it. "My back didn't need that," he muttered into he pillow.<p>

Issoria chuckled. Her hand went to rub the back of his neck. "At least it was not much of a fall, young old man."

"My back _really_ didn't need that."

"I'm rather sure you already said that."

"I wouldn't have fallen off like that only five years ago," he added, face still burrowed in the pillow.

"You already said that, too," she pointed out.

Quercus snorted. "You're not helping."

"Well, Daphne loves her tree house. Is that helping?"

A pause. Quercus shut his eyes, and he could hear Laurie's voice and his own in the back of his mind, whether from actual memories or old nightmares he couldn't tell anymore.

_Only if you swear you're going to build me the best tree house Cohdopia has ever seen when you get back!_

_Fine, fine. I promise I'll build you the best tree house Cohdopia has ever seen once I'm back._

_…when you came back the oak was broken like everything else and we couldn't build anything anymore…_

He clenched his teeth.

"Young old man?" he voice reached him as though from a mile away, and he realized he had tensed, his hands tightly gripping the pillowcase. He forced himself to relax.

"No," he finally said "but I'll admit that it was a better try than the previous ones. A little to the left," he added, closing his eyes again when she began rubbing his sore back. She complied, and for a while neither of them spoke. It was her to finally break the silence.

"I know Daphne asked you a lot about your latest mission."

"She did. I didn't dwell into details, don't worry. But she is too curious for her own good," he added, frowning a little.

A chuckle. "I know, I know. But she's a child, young old man. Children are curious."

"There are things children shouldn't even ask about," Quercus snapped with unexpected vehemence, only to regret it a moment later, when her hands stopped rubbing his back. He sighed. "My apologies. I didn't need to snap."

She seemed to recoil at his words, as though she had been lost in thought. "It's alright," she said softly "but I do wonder what was it of this one war to leave such a mark on you."

He frowned and turned to look at her, propping himself up on his elbows. "Excuse me?"

"You told me next to nothing about this one mission, young old man, and it's unusual. You were always so willing to talk to me."

Quercus stiffened a little. That was true, he knew it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to tell her much about that war; not how he had personally ordered bombings on civilian target, not how he didn't even feel sorry and was upset for _not_ being sorry, not how he had almost seen another child die beneath the ruins of her own house like Laurie had. None of it was something he was willing to speak about, to share – not even with her.

Finally, he looked away. "I lost most of my men," was all he finally said.

"That's not something that never happened," she pointed out quietly.

He sighed. "True enough," he admitted. There was a brief silence. "I took in a child," he finally said impulsively.

Issoria didn't look surprised often, mainly because not much seemed to be enough to surprise her, but this time she clearly hadn't been expecting a statement like that. "You did?"

"Yes. Her father was the smuggler who allowed us to have the cure, and he died in the process. She seems to have no other relatives. I couldn't leave her there. She would have died."

He half-feared she would ask to know more about the circumstances, but she didn't, clearly having guessed she shouldn't push, and he was grateful to her for that. "How old is she?"

"One year old, at the very most. I sent her into a private institution. She'll have the best education this country can give her."

She smiled. "That's generous of you, young old man."

Quercus was rather sure it wasn't true generosity from his part, but on the other hand he couldn't tell _what_ it could be, either, and he didn't want to discuss it. "Speaking of which," he said instead "should Daphne decide to continue her education past school, do not hesitate to pick the best university for whatever field she wants – either in Cohdopia or abroad, it does not matter. I can pay for whatever fees there may be. I already made arrangements so that you'll get all the necessary funds for that should anything happen to me before then. "

Issoria reached to brush some of his hair back, her eyes lingering on the gray that was starting to get heavier on his temples. "I already told you I would, young old man. Isn't it a little early to start concerning yourself about that? Especially since you're still younger than myself," she added with a small chuckle.

He gave a bitter smile. "I had to drop my own studies, remember?" he said, the memory of the quiet life he had once thought he'd lead entering his mind for the second time in hours "had my family left me enough money for the fees, then perhaps I wouldn't have dropped off. I have no regrets," he said immediately, before she could even _think_ of pitying him "I'm more powerful now than I'd have ever been as a lawyer, and far richer. But most soldiers do not make it to the top the way I did, and as long as I have a say in it Daphne won't be missing the occasion to have the best possible education money can pay for."

There were a few moments of silence before she spoke again. "She has no idea how lucky she is," Issoria finally said softly.

Somehow, that felt better than any praise he had received in many years of power and success. Quercus reached out to hold her close, burrowing his face in her graying hair.

"Write me," he murmured almost without thinking. He knew nothing at all of what may happening in her life while he wasn't on leave, and he had always taken for granted that things would have to be that way: he was not truly part of her life or Daphne and could never truly be, aside from the brief moments when he was on leave. But lately he had found himself growing tired of it. "I'll rent a post office box. I'll let you have the address. You can use that. Just to let me know should need anything, or that you're doing fine."

Quercus felt her hand resting on his back. "We're the only link you have to what could have been, aren't we?" she asked, a deep sadness in her voice.

He swallowed. "Yes," he murmured, then, "I'll write back if you do. Promise me you will," he added.

He didn't have to wait.

"I promise."

She was going to keep that promise; in time, however, he wouldn't.

* * *

><p>"Good evening, General Alba. I hope you had a pleasant journey."<p>

Quercus sank on one knee, as it was custom when greeting his monarch. "It felt longer than it probably was, Your Highness," he said "it was rather cruel of you, leaving me to wonder what you wanted to tell me about for the whole week."

She gave an amused smirk before gesturing for him to raise and sit before her at the long table – one that was empty aside from the two of them. "You shouldn't complain, General Alba. It was only one week after all. Not to mention that your curiosity will be sated as soon as the High General will have joined us."

"I see," Quercus said "may I ask how long will it take?"

"Five to ten seconds, depending on how which side of the table my seat is," a very much familiar voice answered before the queen could. Quercus turned to see High General Durandii bowing to the queen – both because the High General was the only one who could bow rather than kneel before the monarch and because Durandii's advancing age and prominent belly would have made getting up difficult – before walking up to the table and sitting on the seat next to the queen.

He turned his gaze to Quercus, who needed some effort not to shift in discomfort; there was something unnerving in having both Queen Luzula and the High General sitting in front of him specifically to talk to him about something he had no clue about.

"My apologies for being late," Durandii was saying, putting a folder on the table in front of him "I overestimated my ability to walk quickly up the stairs, I'm afraid."

"No need to worry. General Alba just arrived," Queen Luzula said before giving Quercus an amused glance "and I'm rather sure he's curious to know what this is about. The papers, if you will."

Quercus watched in silence as Durandii opened the folder, took out several papers from it and put them on the table in front of him. "These," he said "are the translations of most of the letters and documents found into Vulneraria's safe. They're written in several different languages – I have to say that man was fluent in many foreign languages – and they're all related to his smuggling business. Take a look."

He took a few of the papers and ran through them. Most of them were orders, instructions, price and quantity of the items that were to be smuggled, where they would be smuggled, by who and to whom. Quercus' brows went up a little. "He didn't do much to much to keep the identities of his connections secret, did he?" he muttered, but he wasn't too surprised: that man was so arrogant, and Quercus wouldn't put it past him not having even considered the idea those letters may fall into the wrong hands.

"Apparently, he did not," Durandii said, then, "but I'm afraid the father of the girl you found isn't mentioned in any of those we have. I checked already. If he was mentioned anywhere, it may have been in one of the papers that were lost in the fire in Vulneraria's office. I'm sorry."

Quercus' lips curled into a bitter smile. How ironic, he thought, that any trace there might have been of Chrysalis' father's real identity may have been lost in the fire he had started himself. "It doesn't matter," he finally said, putting the papers back down. "In any case, I see you have figured out a fair share of the inner workings of the smuggling operations and the identities of Vulneraria's connections in several countries. What of it? What are you planning?"

Durandii leant forward, resting both elbows on the table. "As you probably know, in these few months as the High General I've been keeping an eye on all members of the High Command. I know for a fact that several of them knew of the smuggling activities and turned in a blind eye, or even helped with it; what I aimed to find out was if any of them had the means and contacts to take control of the smuggling activities."

"Does anyone?"

The old man shook his head. "No. It's clear that none of them had any real access to vital information, such as the identity of the contacts and the inner workings of the operations; Vulneraria clearly kept such information for himself and didn't disclose it with anyone. Most likely to make sure nobody would try to seize control of the operations," Durandii sighed "and it certainly was quite a lot of work, and a great risk. I truly cannot imagine why he'd go through the trouble, and even sacrifice so many lives for it; he was always rich and powerful, what else could he possibly be aiming for?"

Quercus had no answer to that, nor he truly cared: Vulneraria's reasons were none of his concern. All that mattered to him was that he had paid for what he had done, and that he had paid in blood. "Perhaps he was simply bored; people like him are dangerous when on top because they view people as expendable tools and have the power they need to treat them exactly as such," he said flatly, his mind refusing to pause a moment to dwell on how awfully _familiar_ that kind of view was, how close to his own. "In any case, that hardly matters. He's gone, and any answers on this point are gone with him."

Durandii nodded. "True enough," he admitted "back on track we go, then. As I was saying, it appears that thanks to these documents you brought out of his office before it, ahem, caught fire…" he paused for a moment, and it occurred to Quercus that he had to be aware of what had truly happened that night in Vulneraria's office. He glanced at Queen Luzula, who nodded.

"He does know, yes," she said quietly "he's the only living person who does, aside from the two of us, and it will stay this way. Won't it, High General?"

The old man immediately nodded. "Of course," he said, then, "I'm sorry the truth didn't come out for such a long time. I knew something wasn't right with that war, but I didn't have enough power to oppose Vulneraria's decisions, nor I had a chance to look into it. Not with Her Highness still so young and her beloved mother Queen Dalea gone. Sadly, the late queen's consort trusted Vulneraria utterly."

Queen Luzula gave a slight, not exactly royal snort. "He went further than that; he handed him the power to rule Cohdopia on a silver platter," she muttered "my father was never a good judge of character, I'm afraid."

"Very much unlike you, Your Highness," Quercus commented, shooting a quick glance at Durandii. Was it his impression, or the older man had stiffened? Yes, he had, and now he wasn't meeting his gaze. Quercus wondered – again – if the 'long-standing friendship' with the previous queen that Queen Luzula had told him about had been, indeed, mere friendship. But that was a mild curiosity he should forget about, because he could think of any circumstance in which it could be fine walking up to the High General and asking him anything along the lines of 'were you the late queen's lover?', 'are you Queen Luzula's father?'or 'does she even know it?'. Besides, it was hardly any of his business.

"We certainly are getting sidetracked a lot," Durandii was saying with a small chuckle, finally looking back at Quercus once more – though it didn't escape him that there was still some stiffness in his posture that wasn't there before "what I was saying is that we are the only people left alive who with the key knowledge to make use of Vulneraria's connections – and restart the smuggling activities should we decide to."

Quercus frowned. He wasn't sure where he had expected the whole conversation to get, but he was rather sure that was something he had _not_ been expecting. At all. "…come again?" he finally said.

Queen Luzula chuckled. "It appears we have managed to catch him by surprise," she commented, turning to look at Durandii "it's no easy feat."

"But… why?" Quercus asked, brow still furrowed in confusion "I can see some advantage in smuggling in goods from other countries that we cannot obtain through allowed commerce, but what advantage could we possibly get from smuggling out of the country some of our finest products?"

"Absolutely none," the queen replied calmly "then again, it is not the smuggling of a relatively low amount of goods that would be useful to us."

"Then what _is_ it we'd be aiming for?"

She gave an odd smile. "Vulneraria's connections, that's what. Full control over all smuggling operations. Because if we can resume them and keep them under our control, and stay in contacts with all of its connections… then we'll have a true weapon in our hands, one that we could use against our enemies should it be needed. Let's say that we're going to seize control of the whole business and keep its gears oiled in case we'll need to use it later on."

"To make a practical example," Durandii supplied "we know there is a strong social unrest in Reijam. In case we were to think they may be set against us once again, that they may be planning on starting hostilities, wouldn't it be convenient for us if said social unrest exploded into a civil war or at least an armed rebellion?"

Quercus stared at him for several moments, then he slowly nodded. "I see," he said quietly "the reason why you want to take control of the smuggling operations and keep them running is that we could use them to weaken our enemies from the inside should we ever need to."

"Precisely. Think of it as some sort of insurance," Queen Luzula spoke quietly "but for it to work at the benefit of Cohdopia, I need it to be handled by trustworthy people, other than myself, to run it. And the two of you are those I trust above anyone else. General Alba," she added, staring straight at him "this is entirely different from anything you've faced this far, even from that of infiltrating into Vulneraria's circle. This time it isn't about anything you need to fight or uncover – it's about something you'll have to have running until the day we may need it. If you're not up for it, I won't hold it against you. But you have to tell me now."

There was a long silence. Quercus stared at the queen for almost a full minutes before finally speaking. "I vowed I'd do anything in my power for the sake of my country and its ruler," he finally said "I always upheld my word. I have lied, killed, fought wars, risked my own life and ordered thousands killed to honour that vow – and I'm not going to step back now, Your Highness."

Queen Luzula smiled. "Very well," she said "I knew I could count on you."

"And I'm glad you didn't doubt it, Your Highness," Quercus said "may I ask what my role will be?"

"You won't have to expose yourself much," Durandii spoke first "nor Her Highness, of course, because no one must be able to imagine the fact the queen of Cohdopia herself is involved; they cannot imagine the political reasons behind it. So I'll be the poster boy of the operation," the old man paused and put a wrinkled hand on his ample belly "if you'll allow me the use of the word 'boy', of course."

Queen Luzula couldn't hide an amused smirk at his comment, and Durandii went on. "In the eyes of everyone involved in the smuggling – at least those important enough to know it – I'll be the one pulling the strings; another corrupted High General – nothing unseen. Bet none of them would be surprised," he chuckled, leaning back against his seat "and of course, with the High Command thinking of me as an old fool, keeping this little activity from them won't be too hard. Even if they were to realize the activities resumed – and I'll see to it that they won't – they simply wouldn't expect me of all people to be behind it."

He had been smiling through the whole statement, but there was something in it that bothered Quercus somewhat. "You sound awfully at ease with that," he muttered.

Durandii raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"As you just said, everyone aside from us will think of you as either a fool or a corrupted man willing to betray his country for personal gain," Quercus pointed out "and neither definition is precisely flattering."

Durandii stared back at him, a mildly curious expression on his face. "Does that bother you, General Alba?"

Did it? Quercus wasn't sure. It made him wonder, though. "I wouldn't say it bothers me, no," he finally said slowly "rather, I'm surprised to see it doesn't bother _you_. It's quite the undeserved reputation."

"Underserved, but necessary," Durandii countered "it is exactly my reputation as a fool that allowed me to help you taking down Vulneraria, and in order to serve my country now I'll need a reputation as a corrupted man. But didn't we both make sacrifices for this country?" he asked, then raised his hand when Quercus tried to speak. "No, let me finish. You're a soldier, a _true_ soldier, and made your share of sacrifices for Cohdopia and Her Highness on the battlefield. I, however, am nothing but a bureaucrat; one who has a rank in the army thanks to a powerful family's influence, much like all other generals in the High Command. I cannot help Cohdopia on the battlefield like you always did; this is the only kind of sacrifice I can make for the country, and I'll make it gladly. You're not the only one who vowed to put Cohdopia and its ruler above all else, General Alba, nor the only one who's set to keep that vow. Not to mention," the old man added with a small smile "that Her Highness knows I'm not such a fool, and that my loyalty to the royal family never wavered. You both know it. It is enough for me. Not to mention that I take great pride in my acting skills," Durandii laughed, some of the seriousness that had been in his voice fading "sometimes it is a good thing that people cannot tell who you really are. Let them think you're weak, let them think you're old, let them think you're a fool – the last laugh will be yours, because you'll know you fooled everybody."

Quercus stared at him for a few moments, then – slowly – he nodded. "I see," he finally said "my apologies for questioning you. But do tell me, then," he went on, turning to look at the queen, who had followed the whole exchange in silence "what kind of role is it you have in mind for me?"

"You'll soon be given complete control over all the troops in stance to all borders," Queen Luzula said "your role will be that of making sure the smuggling operations happen without any disturbance. Even though most people involved in it wouldn't know about Durandii supposedly pulling the strings, we'd rather not take risk. Any time something will have to be smuggled past the borders, you'll receive all the information you may need to make sure everything goes smoothly. I believe you'll be more than capable to handle a such task."

Quercus smirked. "I believe I am, yes."

Durandii laughed and clapped his hands once. "Very well, then. It is set. Now, if you're willing to allow an old man to indulge into some overly-dramatic antics, allow me to show you what your instructions will be written onto," he said, reaching to take something else from the folder "now, where did I put it…"

Quercus raised an eyebrow and turned to the queen, who shrugged. "I tried to tell him to drop it, but he wouldn't listen," she said almost apologetically.

"My, you young people have no drama in your soul," Durandii muttered, clicking his tongue at the queen before letting something slide across the table and in front of Quercus, some kind of… card?

Quercus reached down to take it and observed it closely. It was a black card, with two white wings and what looked like three legs on one side; at the corners of both sides there were symbols that looked a lot like a bird's claws. He blinked. "What is it?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"A three-legged raven," Durandii explained "in some cultures the appearance of this legendary bird is seen as evidence of the will of Heaven or divine intervention in human affairs. I did tell you I have a thing for drama, didn't I?" he added with a chuckle when Quercus and the queen exchanged a glance before looking back at him "not to mention that, in some others, its legs symbolize dawn, noon, and dusk. It quite fits the three of us, wouldn't you say?" he laughed, then paused as he noticed the look on the queen's face "… me being dusk, of course, Your Highness. I wouldn't dare to imply other wise."

Quercus and Queen Luzula exchanged yet another perplexed glance. "I take it I'm dawn, then?" she asked, sounding mildly amused.

"It would appear so. You _are_ the youngest out of the three of us," Quercus said before looking down at the card "you certainly do have a thing for dramatics, High General."

Durandii shrugged. "Let an old man have his quirks," he said, leaning back on his seat "anyway, the cards themselves are simply supposed to let you be certain the instructions came from either me or the queen. We can't have our instructions to you being mistaken with anything else, can we?"

Quercus was still rather sure the High General only used it as an excuse to use fancy cards in the operations, but he had no reason to argue, so he just agreed and left it at that. "Fair enough," was all he said.

He still couldn't know that the symbol of the three-legged raven was the one in whose shadow he'd spend the rest of his long life.


	20. High General

**Cohdopia's eastern borders, 1997**

While his new duty kept him at the borders and away from the capital for the next several years, some monthly visits to report aside, Quercus couldn't say he minded too much: the luxury of the palace had never truly fit his tastes after all. Life in the barracks felt somewhat right for him in a way that in the capital never truly could. A soldier at heart, Queen Luzula had once called him, and she was quite right on that. What was it she had called him last time they had met...?

_A seasoned veteran. Don't pretend you forgot, because you didn't._

Quercus snorted lightly at the thought. He finished shaving and put down the razor before splashing some water on his face to get rid of any foam left and then straightening himself to take a good look at the mirror. His hair was quickly becoming shot through with gray – his temples were almost completely gray already – and gray was also starting to show on the short goatee he had let grow back on his chin, mainly to cover one of the scars the last mission in Borginia had left on him. There were lines on his forehead and wrinkles around his eyes that hadn't been there last time he had bothered to truly look, and some more at the corners of his mouth.

"Seasoned veteran," he muttered to his reflection. His gaze lingered on the scars on his chest – especially the one the assassin from Zheng Fa had left on him when he had tried to kill both him and then queen – then he turned to glance at the calendar on the wall. While it had been so many years since last time that date had held any true importance for him, he wasn't quite old enough to forget what his birth date was. Fifty years old, he thought. Good Lord, he _was_ growing old.

Quercus tried to get rid of the thought and just reached for a towel to dry his face. Nonsense, he thought; he may not be a young man anymore – he hadn't been one for longer than he wished to admit - but he was still a soldier, and would stay one as long as he had a say in it. He had accomplished so much in the past thirty years, going from a nobody of no importance to being the second most powerful man in the country, and he was certain he could accomplish even more in time, and then... then...

The thought of what would logically follow – retirement – made him grimace just as much as the idea of crawling into his own grave would have. His life had been so eventful for the past three decades, and the thought it could suddenly turn into a monotonous stream of quiet days while he sat in some armchair and waited to die was simply unbearable.

_You're a competent soldier, and could someday make a fine politician. Stay loyal to me, and I'll always have a use for you._

The memory of what Queen Luzula had once told him made some of the sudden dread subside, and he breathed a little more easily. Yes, he may grow old and no longer be fit for life in the army - but there would always a role to play for him in that country, on everything that mattered. He had made it to the top, after all. He was important, he was needed, he was no longer expendable. He-

A knock on the door caused him to recoil. He began putting on his shirt and turned to the door. "Who's there?"

"It's Colonel Seorsus, General Alba, sir. There was a phone call from the capital. I was told to speak to you immediately."

Quercus frowned slightly, quickly buttoning up his shirt. "Do come in, then. The door's open."

The door opened, and Colonel Seorsus walked in, standing on attention right away. Quercus waved his hand. "At ease," he said "what is it you have to tell me? What was the phone call about?"

The other man looked uneasy, which was something Quercus was used to; hardly anyone in the army wasn't like that around him, a war hero who was nothing short of a walking legend to many of them. "Bad news, I'm afraid, sir," the colonel said "the High General died last night."

There were a few moments of silence. Quercus kept staring at him, his brain having some trouble catching up with what he had just heard. Durandii, dead? He had received instructions from him on one of those absurd cards of his only two days before! And now he was dead? Why? _How_?

"Dead?" Quercus found himself repeating, his mouth dry "how?"

"It appears he died in his sleep, sir - he was found dead this morning, in his bed. Probably the heart, or so the doctors think. He..." a moment's hesitation, as though wondering if it was his place saying anything about that, then, "he most likely didn't even notice, sir."

"I... see," Quercus said, his own voice sounding somewhat distant to his own ears. He supposed it shouldn't be too unexpected, for Durandii was well in his seventies and had a heart condition he had never made any mystery of… but it had been so sudden that it had caught him by surprise. Quercus drew in a deep breath. "And I'm needed in the capital, I suppose," he muttered, but he already knew the answer. Not only he was going to have to attend to the funeral, as all generals and the royal family were expected to, but he was certain Queen Luzula would require his presence for a completely different reason: with Durandii gone, they were going to have to rethink their roles in that whole smuggling business... or, at least, _his_ role in it, because no one could ever know the queen herself knew of it.

And not just that, a part of his mind supplied – now that the High General was gone, a new one would be needed... and it was far from a mystery to him who queen's choice would be.

_Rest assured, that position will be yours; General Durandii already told me he's planning on retiring in a few years in any case, as soon as he feels his role has been fulfilled. And that day, when I'll ask you to become the High General of Cohdopia, you will accept. Won't you?_

_Anything for you, Your Highness._

"Yes, sir," he heard the colonel's voice as though from far away "your presence is requested immediately."

Quercus nodded. "Very well, then," he murmured "I'll leave this afternoon, after giving proper instructions. You're dismissed," he added, and watched in silence as the other man left, closing the door behind himself.

He didn't move for a couple more minutes, his gaze fixed on the door without actually seeing it, his mind mulling over the implications of that sudden turn of events. For a moment he found it regretful that Durandii had to die – he had been loyal to the royal family, a capable man and a good ally – but then, slowly, a smile curled his lips.

"High General Alba," he said to the empty room, and smirked again.

He liked the sound of that.

* * *

><p>As Quercus was informed as soon as he set foot in the capital, on early morning the following day, it had indeed been Durandii's heart to kill him as he slept. Quercus was glad to know that it had been quick and painless: he had admired the man, and he did owe him both the chance he had had to end Vulneraria and the position he was soon going to hold.<p>

_High General_.

Walking up the stairs leading to the royal palace's entrance, Quercus had to bite the inside of his cheek not to smirk – something most inappropriate to do while the Cohdopian flags all around him were lowered to half-mast and a State funeral was to be held in a couple of hours. Still, the thought he was soon going to be the most powerful man of Cohdopia – the most powerful person after the queen – was... inebriating. He had _won_, he had succeeded where no Cohdopian had before: he had started out as a peasant, the son of mere merchants, a _nobody_, and yet had climbed all ranks to the very top, outranking all those noble, soft-bellied fools who sat in the High Command by birthright with absolutely no skills nor competence to do so.

He once again had to struggle not to smirk.

"General Alba, sir," one of the guards spoke, snapping him from his thoughts "Her Highness has requested your presence in the Flower Garden before the ceremony starts."

She wasn't up to waste time, Quercus mused. He was alright with that. "I won't keep her waiting, then," he said with a nod, and immediately headed to the entrance to the garden. It had been quite some time, he mused, since last time they had met there. Too bad: it was a place he was fond onto. At least when assassins didn't sneak in it, he thought, and had to hold back a chuckle.

There were two guards in front of the entrance, as usual. One of them was significantly younger than the other, though, and the enthusiasm with which he kept pacing back and forth was more than enough for Quercus to know he had to be new to that duty: more experienced guards would lean back rather than wasting any energy pacing. "Her Highness has requested my presence," Quercus told them, stopping in front of them, and the younger one's pacing stopped. His eyes fell on Quercus' grades.

"Of course, sir," he said "you have to leave here any weapon you- ow!" he trailed off with a yelp when his older companion elbowed him in the ribs.

"Idiot," he muttered "don't you know who he is? By royal decree, General Alba can carry weapons wherever he likes in the palace unless there's a direct order from Her Highness for him not to."

The other guard blinked. "General Alba?" he repeated, staring at him in wonder. Quercus couldn't help but smirk at the young man's expression.

"There is no need to be so harsh," he told the older guard "I don't have my name printed on my forehead, I should hope, and this young man is only doing his job. And quite enthusiastically, too; it reminds me of when I was his age," he added, waving his hand a little "now, if I may go in..."

"I... of course, sir," the older man immediately said, opening the heavily decorated door and stepping aside. Acutely aware of the look of awe the young man was giving him and not at all displeased by it, Quercus walked past them and into the garden.

Queen Luzula was standing in front of the small pond, her back turned to him and her gaze fixed - he assumed - on the lilies on the pond's surface. "High General," she greeted him quietly as he walked up to her. It didn't escape him how she wasn't even waiting for him to be truly named High General of Cohdopia before calling him such.

"Your Highness," Quercus greeted her back, stopping a few steps behind her.

There was a brief silence. The queen still wouldn't turn to look at him. "I must come across as rather cold," she finally said without turning "referring to you as the new High General before he is even in his grave."

She would have sounded perfectly collected to the untrained ear, but Quercus had come to know her so very well, and he easily noticed that there was a strain in her voice. He thought back of when he had wondered if Durandii had been more than a friend to her mother, even if he actually was Queen Luzula's father… and if so, would she even know?

_But does it matter now?_

No, Quercus decided, it did not. It had never been any of his business to begin with. "High General Durandii was a practical man," he finally said "I doubt he would have even minded. Mourning him would only mean wasting time – carrying on his work is a far better way to honor his memory."

Another silence. "I suppose you do have a point," she finally said softly, and Quercus walked up to her until he was by her side. She still wouldn't look at him, though, nor he looked at her; both of them simply stared into the pond for several, long minutes.

"I still do not know whether his loyalty lay with the royal family as a whole or simply with my mother's memory," Queen Luzula finally spoke again, causing Quercus to finally turn to look at her. She looked pale and somewhat tired, but her eyes were dry and her voice was more thoughtful than saddened now. "He was very loyal to her. As much as I hope you will be to me, High General," she added, and finally turned to look at him. Their gazes locked and held. "It's only the two of us now."

"We'll keep it working regardless," Quercus said, his voice firm "as for my loyalty, Your Highness, it wounds me you even have such doubts. You've known for a long time that it lies with you, and it always will until I draw my last breath."

Many years of lies and acting had left him capable of lying without flinching; it was now rare for him to be entirely honest to anyone anymore, himself included. But that time, he meant what he said – every word.

It didn't cross his mind even for a moment that, out of the two of them, he may not be the first one to go.

* * *

><p>The funeral was solemn, as it was meant to be for the most important member of the High Command. The queen stood straight through the whole ceremony, with her young daughter standing beside her and her gaze fixed on the coffin; her eyes didn't rest on Quercus for one single minute during it - very much unlike those of the other generals. None of them would stare openly, of course, but Quercus could catch their glances more than once and, while he was tempted to openly look back until they turned away, he simply pretended not to have noticed their attention. Let them stare, he thought - let them stare at the next High General, at the peasant who should have died an obscure soldier and instead lived to outrank them all.<p>

And besides, a more practical side of his mind supplied, the more they thought he was oblivious to their wariness, the better. Unlike Durandii, he had not acted the role of the old naive fool for years and the other generals wouldn't buy it even if he began trying now; the most he could do was letting them think he was simply oblivious of what they thought of him.

"The High Command doesn't seem to have grown any fonder on me," Quercus commented that same afternoon, once he and the queen could talk to each other in her quarters without anyone listening.

"That isn't anything unexpected," Queen Luzula commented, following with her gaze the guards who were escorting both the Crown Princess and her brother back to their wing of the palace "at the very least, they don't know what to think of you: after your alleged fall into my disfavor, you seemed to be quickly becoming close to Vulneraria's inner circle. I'm rather sure more than a few thought you'd succeed him. And the Vulneraria is murdered with you on the scene, and you're once again in my favor," she smirked "not to mention that now it's a given that you, and not one of them, are going to take the High General's seat. No wonder they don't think highly of you. Regardless, that will not stop them from trying to gain your favor. They tried the same with Durandii; now it's going to be your turn."

Quercus gave a half smile. "I cannot say I'm looking forward to dealing with them, but I'm confident I can handle them."

"So am I, or else I would not have asked you to take Durandii's place," was the calm reply. Queen Luzula then turned to take something form her desk and handed it to him - a folder. "High General Durandii certainly had foresight," she said quietly "in here is all the information he thought you would need should anything happen to him - that of Vulneraria's connections and routes and those he created himself in these past years, code names, orders... everything. He gave me the folder some time ago and has been sending me updates until a few days before he died; you shouldn't be missing anything."

Quercus nodded, and took the folder. It was rather heavy, which probably meant he was going to have a lot of reading to do in his first days as Cohdopia's High General. "I see. This will certainly help," he muttered, looking down at the folder "it's almost like Durandii knew his days were at end," he added without thinking.

The queen let out as small sigh. "He was growing old, and that his heart was in a bad shape was nothing new. I suppose he may have guessed..." a pause, then, "it was a good way to go."

He nodded. "Yes," he agreed quietly "it was."

There were a few moments of silence before Queen Luzula spoke again. "You should get some rest. You don't want to be tired on your great day, do you?" she gave a small smirk "is your ambition finally sated?"

Quercus had to think for a few moments. Was it? It should be - he was about to become the most powerful man of the country, after all; something that certainly did satisfy him. What else could he possibly want? He knew there was nothing more for him to desire. Still...

_No, young old man. It will never be enough for you._

_Nothing will._

The memory was so strong and clear that for a moment Quercus almost thought he had heard those words again, and he made an effort to ignore them. There was no point in thinking of such nonsense: that was the most he could achieve, and it had to be enough. He had to _make_ it be enough, Quercus thought, and clenched his jaw.

"Yes, Your Highness," he lied.

* * *

><p>As he stood in front of a the crowd of the most important people of Cohdopia – and elite troops further on the back – Quercus briefly tried to recall how many times he had been standing there already, either for a promotion or to receive a new medal. He gave up on it soon, though: he had simply lost count. He turned his attention back to Queen Luzula.<p>

She was wearing her best ceremonial gown, her hair tied back and held in place with elaborated jewelry, and she was simply beautiful. Next to her stood, as always those days, Crown Princess Wilkiea: her mother had decided it was time for her to start seeing with her own eyes what she would be expected to do in the future. She was nine years old now, only slightly younger than Queen Luzula herself had been the first time Quercus had seen her from afar, about thirty years before.

With the mind's eye, he could still remember the little girl Luzula had been looking at the troops beneath her with a hint of an amused smile, perfectly at ease and clearly aware of the fact she was at the center of attention. Crown Princess Wilkiea looked a lot like her, but she clearly acted different: she kept looking around with wide eyes and imperceptibly shifting closer and closer to her mother, clearly intimidated by the sheer amount of people she was seeing. It was perfectly normal for a child, Quercus supposed, but it was still a strikingly different attitude from that young Luzula had held when she was her age. He wondered if that would change, and what kind of monarch she was going to make. Perhaps-

Quercus was snapped from his thoughts when he realized that Queen Luzula's speech was over, and two men who had been standing behind her the whole time walked up to him: one of them was carrying Quercus' medals, while the other carried a red sash he was meant to wear over his uniform from that moment on: the mark of the High General, something he could keep wearing even after retirement.

Not that he was planning on retiring at all, Quercus thought as he let one of the men put the sash over his shoulder and chest before the other began putting his medals back in place, one by one. He took a moment to glance at the queen, and saw the hint of a smile on her otherwise impassible face. He gave her a slight not and then, when the two men saluted him and then stepped back, he bowed at her as it was custom. Queen Luzula answered with a nod, and Quercus finally turned to face the crowd.

What happened next was entirely up to him. He knew he was most likely expected to make a speech, thank the queen and everyone who was there, swear his loyalty to the country once again – the kind of things most High Generals of Cohdopia had done when taking up their role.

But unlike all of them, Quercus was a soldier; so there would be no meaningless speech or praise, not for him. He gazed on the far back of the palace's yard, past the nobles, supposedly important people and whatnot, and stared straight at the troops before standing on attention and saluting. If that surprised them, the troops didn't let it show: they immediately saluted back as one, their movements smooth and flawless and absolutely unanimous – undeniable perfection.

Let that be his speech, Quercus thought, let the unveiled admiration on those soldiers' faces be his applause.

And for a moment, just for one moment, it _almost_ was enough.

* * *

><p>Quercus had expected he'd have plenty of reading to do in order to fully acquire all the information Durandii had left for him, but he hadn't truly imagined how long that would take him to sort out all that he was going to need – Durandii had been meticulous in writing down everything, but not nearly as much in putting some order in his notes – and, most of all, organize all of it and remember the important parts.<p>

Before he was even through half the papers he needed to examine, Quercus was seriously hoping a new conflict would start so that he would be required elsewhere. Either to direct the troops or into some life-threatening mission: anything would be better than the deadly boring work he was going through now.

It was quite the useless hope, he knew it; especially since, even if a war were to break out that very same day – which was unlikely – he wouldn't be on the field, not anymore: as the High General, he was meant to stay at the capital to direct the war from afar, and safely, unless things were looking especially bad.

The thought never failed to make him frown. The concept of staying anywhere but on the first lines during a conflict felt so alien to him that he could barely wrap his mind around it… still, that was his role now: he was the High General, and he was to act as such. After all, he reasoned, it was a more than reasonable price to pay for his new power and influence.

Besides, when was it he had started thinking of the chance of not facing death in every conflict as a sacrifice? Something wasn't quite right about that, he thought.

_Nothing in your life has been 'right' for a long time, in case you didn't notice. Not since the day the sun went out._

Quercus sighed and put down the pen before leaning back against his seat – it was quite the comfortable seat, he had to admit – and gazed at his new office. It was the High General's office into the High General's mansion, the one that had belonged to Vulneraria, then Durandii, and that now was his. It had been completely fixed after the fire, of course, and there was new furniture, but with the mind's eye Quercus could see the office engulfed in green flames once more, with Vulneraria's bloody corpse lying in the center of the room.

How amusing, he thought, that the place he had almost died into as well was now his.

Quercus turned to his left to see something that had not changed, or at least not apparently: the formidable safe. It was not the same one Vulneraria had – that one had been damaged into the fire – but it was an exact replica, with the secret department and all... and its key was the same as the old one's, the one that had led him to find out the truth behind his town's destruction and that he had used for Vulneraria's murder.

How fitting.

The phone on Quercus' desk rang, startling him out of his thoughts. Careful not to knock any of the hell knew how many sheets of paper on his desk, he reached out and brought the receiver to his ear. "Who is it?"

"It's Hyacinth, sir," a man – one that Durandii had judged trustworthy enough to be his secretary, and Quercus had seen no reason to pick another one – spoke from the other end of the line. "You have not yet asked for any lunch, so I was wondering if you're feeling alright, or if you wish for some tea, or…"

Quercus raised an eyebrow. A secretary acting like a mother hen – now that was new. "Out of curiosity, how many times a day did High General Durandii ask for food?"

Hyacinth stayed silent for a moment, then he gave a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. "Several times, sir," he said somewhat sheepishly "my apologies for bothering you. I guess I'm simply not used at not being called."

"I see. Well then, I suppose I should do something about it," Quercus said, glancing down at his still far from finished work with a grimace "do bring me some coffee."

"Of course, sir. Anything to go with the coffee cup?"

Another look at his desk was enough for him to decide a cup wasn't going to cut it. "I didn't say anything about 'a cup'. Bring me the whole pot."

"Sir?"

"Unless you do it like it's done in the army. Then one cup might be enough."

"Like it's done in the army, sir? I'm sorry, but I have no idea-"

"Brew some coffee, then use said coffee in place of water to brew some more coffee. It's not hard."

"I… no, sure, it's not. But it sounds like something that could keep you awake through the night."

Quercus looked once more at the sheets on his desk and grimaced. "I'd say that's the point, Hyacinth."

"I see, sir. Of course. Coffee's on the way. Do you wish any-"

"No sugar, no," Quercus cut him off before he hang the phone, having had enough of that foolish chat. He had to get everything sorted out as soon as he could so that he could pick things up where Durandii had left them and-

Quercus cursed under his breath when a too abrupt movement of his elbow caused several papers to fall on the floor. He reached to pick them up and tried to put some order among them, and he froze for a moment when his gaze fell on a letter that had nothing to do with all the rest, one that he had probably let mix up in a moment of distraction, one that was written in a round and clear writing that had nothing to do with the complete mess that was Durandii's handwriting.

Issoria's latest letter.

Quercus had read it already, but he skimmed over it nonetheless; he had been busy in those past years, and had scarcely visited; most of their communications had been through letter. Everything was fine, apparently: the garden was growing, Daphne was doing well in school, her younger son had visited and let her know she was to become a grandmother for the third time. It looked like she scarcely had anything to worry about.

Very much unlike him, Quercus thought, letting his gaze wander on his desk again. He chased away the thought almost immediately, though, along with any bitterness he may have felt for a moment. Her life may be easy, he reasoned, but meaningless: no of any importance to remember her once she was gone, aside from himself, and she was expendable, like everyone else in that country who could only imagine what power truly was about.

And he had sworn himself he would never be expendable again. He would never allow himself to indulge into what could have been; there was no point in it.

Quercus sighed and opened a drawer to put the letter inside. He had meant to write back – something he failed to do more often than not, but she kept writing him nonetheless and he was oddly grateful to her for that – but every time he tried to sit down and write he couldn't do it. What was there he could talk about, after all? Most of what was going on in his life now wasn't something he could write into a letter addressed to a villager on the other side of the country; he was going to have to think of something he could write. The thought of making up something crossed his mind, but he decided against it: she was the only person alive he had never downright lied to, and he didn't like the idea of changing that only to write a damn letter.

Quercus' gaze fell on the other content of the drawer – the cards with the three-legged raven Durandii had decided he would use to send instructions around. He took one and looked at it closely; it felt rather odd, thinking he was going to be the one to use them to send instructions now. For a moment he considered using other means – those cards were a bit too dramatic for his tastes – but he decided against it: most of the people working for the smuggling ring didn't know the ringleader's identity, and those cards were the 'signature' that proved that each order came from him, without any need for them to know anything more. There was no point in causing confusion and alarm, as there was no harm in using those cards.

A knock on the door snapped Quercus from his thoughts. He closed the drawer and looked at the door. "Do come in," he said.

The door opened, and predictably enough it was Hyacinth with a tray, with his coffee on it and… and… were those pastries?

The man seemed to notice his perplexed gaze, for he chuckled somewhat nervously as he put the tray on the one free spot on the desk. "I know you didn't ask for anything to eat, but I supposed that perhaps… along with the coffee…"

"I cannot say I have a sweet tooth," Quercus cut him off, wondering if he looked like the kind of person to guzzle down pastries in his office while working. He reached for the coffee and took a sip. Well, at least that was decent, strong and bitter as he liked it.

"Oh," Hyacinth cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly "so I supposed I could, uh, see if there's something salty you may-"

"Plants."

"… I'm sorry, sir?"

"I said plants, Hyacinth," Quercus said, putting down the empty cup "potted plants suited for living indoors, of course. Not to eat them, as you may have guessed," he added with a small chuckle "just to grow them here. I'm not precisely used to spending most of my time inside an office, and I think some plants would make it a livelier place, if anything," he added before turning his attention to his work "you're dismiss- you may go."

"Oh. Oh, right. Of course, sir."

Quercus didn't look up at him as he left; instead, his gaze fell on the drawer where both the cards with the three-legged raven and Issoria's latest letter were. He recalled what she had told him once, when he was tired and sore from working in her garden.

_I hope you're done with gardening, young old man. Or at least that from now you'll turn your attention to potted plants only._

"I seem to be done with real gardening as I'm done with real army life," he said bitterly to the empty room before shaking his head and resuming his work.

For several hours, the only sounds in the room were those of shuffling sheets and the scratching of pen on paper.


	21. Zheng Fa

**Cohdopia, 2003**

Quercus' pen lingered in the air for a few instants above the back of the card. A drop of ink – common ink instead of the prized Cohdopian one, because few people could afford using it and it could end up revealing too much should one of those cards fall into hands it wasn't supposed to be into – fell on the mahogany desk, but Quercus didn't take notice, his gaze fixed on the card.

The uncertainty, however, didn't last for long: he finally lowered the pen and began writing on the back of the card an order that was nothing short of a death sentence for a man who had tried to double-cross them. It was nothing relevant, a little amount of goods he had hidden for himself, but that had been going on for too long, and it was not acceptable: for everything to work smoothly, everyone had to know exactly where they stood. Double-crossing had grave consequences, for nothing but death could be in store for people who could not be trusted; letting them live and perhaps reveal the smuggling business out of spite for being left out was not an option.

No, Quercus thought as he finished writing the order, there was no other options to deal with such individuals... and besides, one death was a more than acceptable price to remind everyone else what their place was, and what would happen to traitors.

Quercus put town the pen and stared down at it for a few moments. It wasn't the first time he had to write an order like that in the past several years, but each time he found himself waiting for a few moments before having the order sent. Waiting for what, though, he couldn't tell. For his own conscience to speak up? What a ridiculous notion. His conscience was silent, and it was no surprise: it had been silent for such a long time, not to be heard even the first time he had ordered bombings on civilians – so why would ordering a few men's death even warrant a reaction?

Intentionally avoiding to even think about his family, how they had died and to what end, he tore his gaze away from the card and finally looked at the vase that sat on his desk. It was just one of the many vases in the office, for tending the plants was pretty much the only truly enjoyable thing to do he had left now that his role was more and more that of a bureaucrat and less and less that of a soldier, but he couldn't help but feel that one was somewhat special. It contained several blossoming passionflowers – the kind of flower he had seen on his first battlefield all those years ago, when he had thought he would die there, bleeding to death right next to a fragile flower that had somehow managed to survive in the midst of a battle.

A survivor, Quercus thought, just like him.

And sometimes, in order to survive, some _measures_ have to be taken.

He turned his gaze back onto the card and read the order he had just written. He read it again and, as he had expected, he once again felt nothing. He simply took the card, slipped it into an envelope and sealed it, then reached for the button of the interphone.

"Hyacinth, there is a letter you have to post," he said. He had barely the time to write the address – that of a small, anonymously rented mail box in a postal office near the northern border – on the back of the envelope before his secretary knocked the door.

"Do come in," Quercus said, mildly amused by how quickly he had come. He wouldn't be surprised if it turned out he had ran up the stairs – and indeed, when Hyacinth stepped in and greeted him his breathing was quicker than he probably should have been.

Eager to please as always, Quercus thought in mild amusement as he handed him the envelope and gave him instructions to post it immediately. His opinion on the man hadn't changed through the years – he still thought he was a fool – but Durandii had left a note saying that he was a good secretary exactly because of that: he was loyal, eager to please, and would follow orders without any question at all, and no suspect there could be any wrongdoing going on would enter his mind. So far, Quercus could see the old High General had been right: he was a useful, loyal idiot.

"... post it right away, then you can take the rest of the time until lunch break off," Quercus finished, and turned his gaze back on the other letter he was to write. It was a much less important and rather boring one about the troops' placement on the southern border, and it could wait until that afternoon to be sent. He was about to tell Hyacinth that he was dismissed – by now he had given up on trying to lose the old habit and simply kept 'dismissing' his underlings as though he was talking to soldier instead of civilians – when he noticed that he was almost out of ink. "Just one more thing. I need some more ink."

"Oh. Of course, sir. I'll bring you another bottle before I head out to post the letter," his secretary said. But he didn't move for a few more moments, looking down at pen and paper, and eventually spoke again. "About that, sir, I was thinking..."

"I this is another attempt at talking me into using a typewriter, you already know the answer," Quercus all but grumbled, not even looking up at him. "Pen and paper work just fine for me. You know I'm old-fashioned like that. Not to mention that I rather enjoy being able to write without wasting whole minutes looking for this or that key on that damn machine, or to push the carriage back, or to get the damn paper unstuck, or- what _is_ it you find so amusing, if I may ask?"

The faint smile that had appeared on the other man's lips for a moment immediately disappeared. "I... ahem. Nothing, sir. It's just that I wasn't going to suggest you to use a typewriter. Honest."

"What is it, then?"

"Well, I was thinking that we could try getting a few computers, and Internet access," Hyacinth blurted out. Quercus tried to open his mouth to ask him what in the world that 'Internet' was supposed to be, but the other man spoke too quickly to allow him.

"They could simplify our work a lot. I have one back home and believe me, sir, it's rather amazing. I know of many offices that are already using them here as well, and in other parts of the world they're very common. For example, you can send your directions through e-mail – it's quicker and much less expensive. There is my cousin in the States who says they're the best thing after-"

Quercus sighed and raised a hand, causing the deluge of words to finally stop. "Enough," he said. "I'm not sure what makes you think someone unable to use a typewriter like myself should be ever trusted with anything even close to a computer," he spoke the last word with a slight scowl. "Besides, we have a fax machine for anything we need to send to the High Command or anyone else immediately, and it is enough. So I believe I will stick with pen and paper, especially since it allows me to _sign_ anything I write. That's _not_ up for discussion," he added when his secretary opened his mouth, causing him to close it again with the disappointed expression of someone who's just been denied a new toy.

"Yes, sir," he finally murmured in defeat.

"Good. Now, if you don't mind, you have a rather important and _very_ old-fashioned letter to post. Once you've brought me some more ink, of course."

With another defeated 'yes, sir', the man finally left. Once again alone in the office, Quercus leant back on his seat and stared at the door. He purposely avoided thinking over what a part of his mind was already pointing out – _when did I start being wary of all things new like some old man?_ – and absent-mindedly wondered what would have that annoyingly simple-minded man thought had he known that the 'letter' he was going to post contained a man's death sentence. The thought made him chuckle. It was a pity he couldn't find out, but that would have meant having to kill him as well to silence him and it was simply not worth the hassle of having to look for another suitably naive secretary.

Shaking the thought out of his mind, he reached to open the desk's right drawer and pulled out two letters. The first one he barely even looked at: it was the monthly update from the institution he had sent Chrysalis to, and it was hardly different from all the others he had received. The girl, now about fourteen years old, was clever, a brilliant student, and fluent in several languages already; aside from occasional complaints about the girl's 'lack of respect' – from what Quercus had bothered to gather, she seemed simply unable to hold back from laughing at her teachers when she thought they were especially amusing – those letters were nothing but extremely uncreative and ultimately boring praise. He was pleased, to some degree – it was good to know it wasn't wasted money, however insignificant the amount was to him – but once he was done reading those reports he'd just put them away and forgot all about the girl until the following month and the following letter.

The second letter, however, he actually did bother to read a second time – it was Issoria's. It looked like Daphne was about to finish school, and had decided she wanted to become a doctor. It was not a request for money, she never asked for any, but he took a mental note of searching for the best possible universities in the field and let her know that Daphne could pick the one she liked best and he'd pay the fees. He had promised he'd pay for her education, and he was going to keep that promise. Quercus nodded to himself at the thought and put the letter back on the desk, but his eyes lingered on it a few more moments, a slight frown creasing his brow.

Despite having come to feel home with her, he had always considered Issoria's life – and that of anyone spending their whole life into a small village – to be unbearably dull in the long run. To what point it was the result of traveling across the whole country or at the contrary a deep-rooted longing for a kind of life he could never have again, he couldn't tell. In any case, no matter the reason, that had been exactly what he had thought of her life: that it was dull, uneventful, and dreadfully boring.

And yet, he had come to realize that while she always had something to write him about – be it a visit from either of her sons and their children, something Daphne did or said, how the garden was growing or just something amusing that had happened in the village – over the past years he had had to struggle to come up with anything he could write back: what _was_ there he could tell her about? The smuggling ring was out of question, and anything else he did was nothing but a bureaucrat's work; nothing he found interesting enough to think about one moment more than necessary, let alone write about.

So he had come to realize, with a certain amount of bitterness, that his life had become far duller than he could have ever imagined: the only things that there were left for him to enjoy were the power and influence that came from his position and his role in the smuggling ring. Back when he was a soldier, a _true_ soldier, he had a goal to pursue – power – and had to work to achieve it; and now there he was, the High General, the most powerful man of the country, bored out of his mind into a fancy office and only taking pleasure in fact he had made it to the top against all odds.

Quercus' eyes fell on his own hand, and he once again scowled bitterly. It was large and calloused and still strong, but the skin was paler than it used to be, and the veins showed more. He actually hadn't even realized how pale he had grown until he had seen a photograph taken the day he had been promoted to High General and seen the difference with his own eyes. He had been fair-skinned when he was a boy, but years in the army, marching and training under the sun, had darkened his skin a few shades; now, though, his skin was once again pale – paler than ever before.

_Much like you're becoming a shade of your former self, like a plant into a dark room._

He clenched his jaw and did his best to push the thought aside – that was utter nonsense, he thought, just the musing of a tired, bored aging man – when the phone suddenly rang, snapping him from his thoughts. Somewhat relieved, Quercus reached for the receiver.

"What now?"

"It's Her Highness, High General, sir," his secretary said, sounding rather nervous as always when the queen herself called. Thinking about it, Quercus thought, yet another reason why he made the ideal secretary was that he would never dream of listening to any phone conversation. "She's on line one."

"Fine. I'll take the call right away. You just go post that letter, I'll get the ink by myself," was all Quercus said before pushing another button. "Your Highness," he said quietly.

"High General," she greeted him from the other side. "I trust I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

"No, Your Highness. I'm just done taking measures to remove a pesky grain of sand from my eye," he replied, turning to glance out of his study's window. Sure enough, there was Hyacinth – leaving the residence and heading to post his latest order. "It should be dealt with soon."

Queen Luzula did not precisely know what he meant by that: he said something along those lines any time some issue came up and he dealt with it successfully, and she could never know what kind of measures he had taken and how drastic they may be. She never asked either, perhaps because a part of her didn't truly want to know, perhaps because she simply trusted his judgment enough not to bother asking... or perhaps it was for both reasons. It was hard to tell.

And she didn't ask that time, either. "Good to know," she said lightly. "In this case, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you. Do you think you can leave your children alone long enough to come to the palace this afternoon?"

Quercus chuckled at her jab; she had been rather amused to see him taking on caring for plants, and had come to refer to them as 'his children'. "There actually is a bonsai that could use some trimming," he said, glancing at the bonsai in question. "But yes, I do believe it can wait a bit longer."

Queen Luzula chuckled. "It's always good to know I'm always on top of your priorities, High General," she muttered. "I'll be waiting for you at five, in my study. Do not be late."

"I won't be, Your Highness," Quercus replied. "May I ask what it is about?"

"Not about something you'll like to hear, I'm sure," the queen replied, sounding rather amused, and hang the phone before Quercus could even open his mouth to ask. He took the receiver off his ear and started at it for a few moments before sighing and hanging up as well, wondering just what kind of headache Queen Luzula was going to give him that time.

* * *

><p>"You cannot be serious!"<p>

Far from unsettled by Quercus' outburst, Queen Luzula simply smirked. "I think you forgot a 'Your Highness' at the end," she pointed out, amusement clearly showing in her voice. An amusement that Quercus was most definitely not sharing.

"Fine," he almost growled. "You'll have to forgive me, _Your Highness_, if I ask you to _please_ tell me you're not being serious."

"I'm afraid I am, High General. Dead serious."

"Why, what a fitting description," Quercus snapped. "Especially since your death is something this idea of yours could easily end with."

Queen Luzula's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not abuse the freedom of speech you have with me, High General," she warned dryly.

Quercus clenched his jaw, and when he spoke again a few moments later his voice was tightly controlled. "Your Highness, I _beg_ you to reconsider. Our relationship with Zheng Fa has always been strained to say the best, and-"

"It's been getting better lately, though, has it not?" She cut him off.

"This doesn't mean it's the right moment. There still are-"

"Issues? Yes, I am aware of that, but they will never be solved if we don't get working on it, and _this_ is the right moment to. Things may not be picture perfect, but there haven't been any open hostilities in years, and the current President has been making a noticeable effort for diplomacy – an effort we reciprocated. If we do not give it a chance now, it may have been all for naught. Don't you believe lasting peace between the countries is a more than reasonable reason to take some risks?"

"An official visit to Zheng Fa is more than just _risky_. It's a needless danger. You'll be trusting them with your life by putting your safety and that of the crown princess – the c_rown princess_! – in their hands. They sent and assassin after you once already, and-"

Luzula cut him off with an impatient gesture of her hand. "That was almost fifteen years ago, High General. It is different now; the situation is different – their _government_ is different. The current President is not the one who sent the assassin after me."

Quercus sneered. "Different, you say. That's unexpectedly naive of you, Your Highness. The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same."

"Or perhaps you're simply growing too old to see changes even when happen right in front of your eyes," Queen Luzula countered, now sounding somewhat exasperated. "For Heaven's sake, your arguments remind me those Vulneraria used when he insisted for my father to quit trying for peace with Borginia and-"

She had to see something on Quercus' face when he heard the comparison, something that unsettled her, because she immediately tailed off and drew in a deep breath. "That was uncalled for," she finally said quietly, looking down.

Quercus forced himself to stop clenching his teeth enough to speak. His hands were curled into tight fists by his sides, and he still felt as though his blood was boiling. "Yes, it was," he said, his voice just as tightly controlled as before.

"My apologies."

Her voice was quiet, with no hint of mockery, and he saw none in her expression, either. He drew in a deep breath before speaking again.

"Regardless, it is not a war I am suggesting, nor I'm saying we shouldn't try for diplomacy. What I'm saying is that I fear an official visit to Zheng Fa might put your life and that of the Crown Princess in danger. Their President may have the best intentions, but you of all people should know that a governor, or a ruler, rarely has complete control of everything that goes on in their country. A small group of influent people, maybe even one single powerful person who'd rather have you dead and hostilities to resume would be enough."

Queen Luzula nodded. "I am aware of that, of course. But I do maintain that it's worth the risk," she paused and smirked. "You truly do not trust anybody with my life, do you?"

Quercus scoffed. "When it comes to your life, Your Highness, I trust nobody but myself."

His statement had to amuse her a great deal, for she laughed. "It is quite alright, then," she said once she was done laughing. "It seems that you have nothing to worry about."

Quercus raised an eyebrow. "I take it there's something I don't know yet."

"You simply forgot what your role is, _High General,_" she replied, emphasizing his title. "As the High General of Cohdopia, you're expected to take part to any official visit abroad along with your ruler. Which means that my daughter and I will not be alone among the guards the president of Zheng Fa will choose for us – you will be there as well."

Quercus hadn't even thought about it. "So I'll officially be there because of my position, but more than anything I'm meant to keep you and the Crown Princess Wilkiea safe. Is that it?"

Queen Luzula nodded. "Precisely. It would be rather rude of me declining the Zheng Fa's offer for security and insist on bringing bodyguards of my own, and right now it would go against the kind of message I want to transpire – that I trust them enough. For as long-lasting friendship between the two countries we cannot start out with a diplomatic incident, minor as it may be, so bringing my own guards along is not an option. You, on the other hand..." She gestured at the sash and medals on his chest and smirked. "As the High General, you're _supposed_ to be there. That your main reason to be there will be looking out for me and my daughter is not something they need to know."

For a moment before speaking again, Quercus couldn't help but smile a little. Had he really thought that Queen Luzula, willing to take risks as she may be, would actually travel to a country that had sent an assassin against her once already with no protection at all for herself and her daughter? Thinking about it, it had been rather foolish of him not realizing she had to have at least some sort of plan.

"I see," he finally said. "I have to admit I'm flattered to know that you trust me to keep you safe by myself."

She tilted her head on one side. "Don't you think you're up for the task? After all, you did already save me from an assassin before. Me, and both of my children."

"As you already mentioned, Your Highness, that was almost fifteen years ago. I was barely in my forties; now I'm well in my fifties," Quercus replied, more out of amusement than because he truly thought his age would keep him from fighting and fighting well if that was necessary. Years had given him more than graying hair and new scars – they had also given him more experience, and to be honest he was almost hoping something would happen in Zheng Fa, anything that would allow him to break the monotony.

Few things can make a soldier feel young again like fighting for his life.

"Oh, I'm certain you'd be more than able to protect us should it be needed," Queen Luzula was saying, turning to her desk and reaching for something on it. "Or do you think years have dulled you like a rusty old blade?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but he had no time to utter one single word, for an instant later the queen turned and swung her arm at him on a wide arc, holding a golden paperweight in her hand and aiming for the side of his head.

Quercus acted out on instinct: his right arm shot out to grab the queen's forearm – not her wrist, because he would have broken it if he did and even in the heath of the moment and barely comprehending what was going on he knew better than doing that to the queen – before the paperweight could connect with his head, and immediately twisted her arm behind her back, efficiently immobilizing her and forcing her to let the paperweight fall on the carpet beneath them.

Everything had happened in just an instant, and the next moment Queen Luzula turned to look at him over her shoulder, a smirk on her face despite the uncomfortable position her arm was held into. "No, it seems that they have not," she said smugly, and it was only then that Quercus fully realized he had just been tested. He gave her something that was halfway between a smirk and a sneer.

"_This_ blade has been tempered too well to succumb to simple rust," he hissed, their faces only inches apart, and let go of her arm.

Queen Luzula took a few steps away from him and rubbed her arm, but other than that she showed no discomfort at all. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet as though they had just had a pleasant talk over a chess game.

"I suppose this settles it, then. You will come with me and my daughter in Zheng Fa, to watch over us. I do not think there will be any need for you to pull a stunt like this, to be honest – the President seems to be rather set on making sure the visit happens without incidents – but as you already pointed out, it's better to be on the safe side. I can count on you, can I not?"

Quercus gave a low chuckle, the burst of adrenaline from the unexpected attack still humming in his blood; impressive, he mused, how even something that small had been enough to make him feel younger all of a sudden, the grayness of his days in the High General's office forgotten for a few moments. "Does that even warrant an answer, Your Highness?"

She nodded. "Very well. The visit will be at the end of the month; you should have all the time you need to make sure everything in our little side business is settled before you lave for a few days. Just one more thing, High General," she added, suddenly looking terribly serious.

Surprised by the sudden change of expression, Quercus blinked. "Your Highness?"

"In the unlikely case there is, indeed, some _incident_, I want you to keep it in mind that my daughter's safety has priority over mine."

Quercus found himself staring at her for a few moments. "But-"

"That is an order, High General, and you shall not dare defying it," she cut him off, her voice hard and cold. "Should both of us be in danger for whatever reason, Wilkiea's safety must be your first concern. You'll do everything in your power to keep her safe even if it means leaving me to my fate. Promise me you will."

"Your High-"

"_Promise me_. On Cohdopia, on your life, on anything you ever held dear – you must promise me you will, and that you'll help her rule until she's of age if I die."

There were a few moments of complete silence as they stared at each other. Her face was pale and devoid of any expression, her eyes dark and cold, not to show any emotion until she had an answer.

He thought back when he had almost lost both of her children, thought back of the thoughts that had been going on through his mind for years after his family's annihilation – _why them, why not me, why do I live while they had to die, why could I not die with them_ – and finally, slowly, he nodded.

"You have my word, Your Highness," he finally said "on Cohdopia, on my life, on my family's grave, you have my word."

The emotionless mask her face had been a moment before melted into a smile. "Thank you," she said quietly. For a moment, just one moment, she looked as though she would add something, but she didn't: she simply shut her mouth again and gave him a slight nod.

"You may go," she murmured.

And for a few instants Quercus was about to speak as well, to tell her that he would make sure there would be no need for him to fulfill that promise, that he would do everything in his power to make sure everything went smoothly and both Her Highness and the crown princess would be back home safe and sound. But what was the point in saying aloud what Queen Luzula was already aware of?

There was no point, he thought, simply no point. So he didn't speak: he simply bowed to her as it was custom before turning to silently leave.

* * *

><p>The journey to Zheng Fa was relatively uneventful. Of course, Quercus thought, the fact they were traveling on the royal family's private plane with a crew entirely Cohdopian had a lot to do with it.<p>

During the flight – that lasted no more than a couple of hours – he had a chance to observe the crown princess closely more than just a few minutes for the first time. Close to fifteen years of age now, the resemblance with her mother was impressive. Her attitude seemed to have changed, too, for she looked far calmer than she had been when he had been when, still a child, she had taken part to the ceremony of his promotion to High General.

Still, it didn't escape Quercus how she'd bite her lower lip from time to time, nor how pensive she looked as she gazed out of the window – small gestures that were revealing nonetheless, especially next to the expressionless Sphinx Queen Luzula was. No, he thought, the princess didn't seem to be as jaded and sure of herself as her mother was.

Perhaps he observed her for too long, because at some point halfway the flight she turned into his direction, and their gazes met. Knowing better than just turning away – what was the point? She had noticed him staring thoughtfully at her already after all – Quercus bowed his head at her with a half-smile before looking down at the newspaper from Zheng Fa he had been looking at. Not reading it, no, for the only language aside from Cohdopian he could read and understand was English, but it was still interesting seeing how much emphasis that visit was getting from the media of Zheng Fa.

Perhaps he truly was being needlessly suspicious, Quercus thought, perhaps it was true that-

"High General?"

Quercus looked up to see Crown Princess Wilkiea standing next to his seat. He folded the newspaper and put it away. "Your Highness," he greeted her. "What do I owe the honor?"

She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, a stark contrast to how confident her mother had been when, even younger than she was now, had spoken to him for the first time. Then again, he mused, back then he was no High General. A war hero, yes, but not yet the walking legend he apparently was now. "I simply wanted to talk," she finally said, letting little to no hesitance show in her voice. She was rather good at hiding it, he had to admit.

He nodded at her. "Well then, it isn't fitting for Your Highness to stand while I sit," he told her, gesturing for the empty space next to him – the seats in the royal family's private plane were closer to couches than they were to seats.

The crown princess nodded and sat, but didn't look at him right away: her gaze was first drawn to his medals. "My mother told me you saved my life," she finally spoke "when I was very little. And my brother's, too."

"Yes. I am glad I was successful."

"Thank you."

Quercus shook his head. "Do not thank me, Your Highness. Gratitude is only earned by going above and beyond the call of duty. Doing everything in my power to protect any member of the royal family _is_ my duty; I did nothing but fulfilling it. "

"Oh," she murmured. She seemed unsure for a few more moments, then she spoke again. "That's why you're coming with us this time, too, isn't it? For our safety?"

Well, Quercus had to admit that she was smart. Not as sharp as her mother was, but still smart enough to see what his reason to be there truly was. "Yes, Your Highness. That's part of the reason."

"I see." She bit her lower lip, looking openly worried now. Quercus couldn't say he blamed her: that was her first official visit to a foreign country, and to one they had a history of hostilities with to boot – one that had sent an assassin to kill her mother when she and her brother were still in the womb. No, it truly was no surprise that she was worried. "Do you think it's going to be needed...?"

She wasn't looking much like a future monarch now, only like a fifteen years old thrown into an intricate games of politics where she only had a basic grasp on the rules. Quercus wondered for a moment if she knew just to what lengths her mother was willing to go to make sure she would be safe, then he chased away the thought – it was none of his business after all – and shook his head.

"No, Your Highness, I do not. Your mother doesn't think so, and I trust her judgment more than anyone else's; my own included, when it comes to politics," he added with a small chuckle. "My presence is merely an extra caution, nothing more. I think you'd be safe enough without me, but it's better being safe than sorry, is it not?"

She gave a small, somewhat tentative chuckle. "I suppose," she said. A small pause followed. "My brother was a bit put off that he couldn't come," she added, sounding a little more confident now, a little less intimidated.

Quercus raised an eyebrow. "He was? I had no idea he so wished to visit Zheng Fa."

Crown Princes Wilkiea chuckled again. "No, no, it's not because of Zheng Fa. It's that Delphinium really wishes to meet you. I mean, you already met, but just during ceremonies. I think he asked mother for a meeting, but she said he'll have to wait until he had something meaningful to say to you, because you're too busy to be bothered for no real reason. So, uhm…" She looked unsure once again. "He actually asked me if you could talk to our mother about that. So that he can meet you just once. He said that maybe you can convince her. It would really mean a lot to him."

Quite amused by the young prince's admiration, Quercus smiled. "Why, I can always find some time to talk to the Prince. I'll talk to your mother about it, I promise. A hour away from my duties certainly won't result into a disaster for the country."

The princess brightened, and smiled.

"Thank you. He'll be glad to know it – he knows all of the wars you won at heart, you know," she went on. "He wanted to join the army for some time, too, when we were little. Not anymore, though, he's really no soldier material. He says he's going to be a good politician so that he can help me rule the country when I'm queen."

He nodded. "That's a rather sensible choice. It's good to know you won't be on your own when you'll take the throne. You'll need someone you can trust above all doubt," he added. Now he certainly had a good reason to want to meet Prince Delphinium: if he was to someday aid her sister to rule, then he would become an influent man himself. And, in the country's best interest, Quercus hoped he would have a _good_ influence.

"My mother did say that, too," the crown princess commented. "She was glad to know my brother wants to help me."

"Well, she had every reason to be. I believe-"

The pilot announcing the plane was about to land in the central airport of Zheng Fa's capital interrupted him mid-sentence. Quercus set his jaw and turned back to the Crown Princess. "I think you should get back to your mother; you'll have a great entrance to make in a few minutes. I'm certain you have nothing to fear," he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile when he saw the girl tensing. "Security is going to be airtight, no doubt, and should there be anyone conspiring against you, I doubt they'll act here. Try not to worry and learn as much as you can from this experience, Your Highness – I'm certain you'll benefit from it."

She just nodded before walking back to the section where her mother was. Quercus followed her with his gaze for a few moments – he could now tell without doubt that she was going to be a very different from her mother, but whether that would be for the better or for the worse he could not quite tell – then he glanced out of the plane's window to see the country beneath them.

Zheng Fa.

He drew in a deep breath, and the thought that this – looking over the queen and the crown princess – was his first real, though unofficial, mission in over six years felt good. It felt… refreshing.

Quercus smiled to himself, and it was perhaps a good thing that no one looked in his direction in that moment: they may have wondered about that predatory, almost hungry smile on the High General's face.


	22. Ambassador Alba

_A/N: just a quick note about a character who only appears (though as far as I can tell he's only mentioned) in AA:I 2 and who I'll use in this chapter - namely, Lang's father. I was a bit unsure on whether or not I should use it, since the game has not yet been localized anywhere outside Japan; but since he's only mentioned/briefly seen in a flashback, I thought there would be no issue in using him. There are absolutely no spoilers for that game in this chapter, of course - I haven't played it myself, so I could hardly spoil anything to anyone. _

* * *

><p>Two days in Zheng Fa were enough for Quercus to realize two things. Firstly, he realized that one of the most annoying things in the world was having an interpreter following him everywhere he went because he couldn't speak a lick of that absurd language of theirs.<p>

Hadn't the man been thin as a toothpick and clearly inept at anything but translating, Quercus may have suspected he could be an assassin set on him. But he turned out to be rather harmless – only annoying. Queen Luzula herself spoke the language correctly instead, and had declined the offer of an interpreter simply saying that she didn't need one. That was a relief to Quercus: protecting her was going to be easier without someone constantly following her and the crown princess around.

The second thing he realized, both to his relief and to his disappointment – not because he had hoped her life would be in danger, but because he had hoped for at least some action to break the routine of meeting and official dinners – was that the President was serious in the intent of building a lasting peace between the two countries. There had been no incidents of any sort so far: all meetings had been fruitful with both parts leaving in fairly good spirits.

"And to think you were so suspicious," Queen Luzula told him on the second evening as they walked past the guards that were guarding the wing of the presidential palace they had been given to spend the night. There was an unmistakable smugness in her voice, but Quercus could easily hear relief as well – hadn't she been worried enough of the possibility of incidents to make him swear he'd protect her daughter at all costs? – and had decided not to point it out.

"There are still three days left, Your Highness," he just replied. "And I'll only feel safe once you're back in Cohdopia. One thing I've learned in my years in the army is that the moment you lower your guard is the moment fate strikes."

The queen laughed. "You truly are turning into a suspicious old man."

"I've always been suspicious, Your Highness, and it saved my life more times than I care to remember."

"As it saved mine," Queen Luzula said quietly as both of them and the crown princess stopped in front of the door leading to their chambers. Quercus reached to open it and stepped in first, ears straining to catch the faintest noise, muscles tense and ready to react immediately should anyone attack.

Nothing.

A quick search around the luxurious rooms was enough to establish that no, no one was in there. He was, once again, relieved and yet somewhat disappointed. "It's clear," he said, and both Queen Luzula and her daughter stepped in. "I'll take one last walk outside before retiring," he added, glancing at the window – if an assassin could once get past the Cohdopian royal palace's walls and into the flower garden, if he himself could climb into Vulneraria's mansion through a window, then an assassin could get into that room from outside; so he had taken the habit of staying right outside if at night for a while, with the excuse of insomnia, to make sure no one would approach. "Just to be safe."

The queen nodded, and walked with him back to the door. After making sure her daughter was inside her own chamber and out of sight, she tilted up her head to give him a quick, light kiss. "Be careful."

"Yes, Your Highness."

* * *

><p>Another thing that visit was teaching him, Quercus thought, was that smoking was a rather disgusting habit.<p>

Taking a mental note to burn it the moment he was back in Cohdopia, he forced himself to keep that damn pipe in his mouth and leant against one of the trees that grew in the garden outside the presidential palace. After all, he needed a better excuse than just insomnia to be outside that time of the night, or else someone could have guessed all too easily that he was actually there to hold guard himself. He didn't think it would be much of an issue, actually, but Queen Luzula had been adamant on that – they shouldn't be given a reason to think they did not trust them.

"This could be a turning point for both countries, and we need to handle it with care," she had told him with the tone of someone who won't accept objections. "We cannot afford bruising anyone's ego right now. Your real reason to be here cannot be too obvious."

And so there he was, outside at night with the excuse of insomnia _and_ the need to smoke, forcing himself to keep a goddamn pipe in his mouth to keep up the pretense and trying not to cough too much. Quercus exhaled the smoke – good Lord, he thought, how could anyone at all even want to inspire that poison? – and drew in a deep breath of clean, fresh air.

He allowed himself a few minutes to _breathe_ and glanced up at the window he could see through the branches of the trees among which he was concealed. It was rather high, he had to admit, and climbing up there – after having to get past the guarded, rather high wall that surrounded the palace and its park – wouldn't be easy. Still, there was a tree growing close enough to it for someone especially agile to make it to the ledge. It was not likely to happen, but possible, and as long as there was even once chance, no matter how small, that Queen Luzula may be in danger...!

A sudden sound somewhere at his left snapped Quercus from his thoughts. He immediately extinguished the tobacco in the pipe and silently stepped behind the tree he had been leaning onto. He had taken off the medals and the red sash on his chest, and he was confident enough that his dark green uniform wouldn't be easy to spot in the dark among trees. For several more moments there was only silence and nothing seemed to move; then, under the weak moonlight that made it through the leaves above, Quercus could see something moving.

No, not something – _someone_, for the shadow he was seeing was undoubtedly that of a person. Whoever it was, they were moving so silently that, hadn't it been for that one noise, Quercus probably wouldn't have realized he was no longer alone until the stranger was right next to him and... and what? What were their intentions?

A low burst of static broke the almost surreal silence, one that Quercus recognized as a radio's sound one moment before the shadow lifted an arm and a man's voice spoke quietly. "The way seems to be clear. I'm approaching now."

And then the shadow moved, still silent as a ghost, towards the clearing beneath the queen's window, and Quercus knew that he had to act, that he couldn't let him get close, that he had to take him down before anyone else – because there were other people, those he was talking to through the radio – could make it there and back him up.

So he left his cover and moved as silently and quickly as he could, knowing that he had to use the advantage surprise gave him to end everything quickly. He was behind the man in only one instant and – barely even having time to take notice of the fact the man's hair had more gray in them than his own – reached to wrap his arm around his throat.

His intention was that of immobilizing and choking him just enough to make him pass out, so that he could bring him inside and tie him up and getting the answers he wanted – who had sent him? Were there other assassins around? Where were they? – once he regained consciousness, but his plan was not going to go through, for the man ducked suddenly and Quercus' arm only held air.

He had barely even the time to register that when a powerful blow hit his stomach, causing him to gasp and stagger back, instinctively holding out an arm to grab onto something – anything – so that he wouldn't fall back and be as defenseless as turtle on its back. And then something grabbed his arm – someone – and a moment later he was flung over someone's back and landed on the ground on his own back, all air leaving his lungs.

His assailant was above him before he could even recover, and Quercus felt the pressure of a knee being pushed onto his chest. He could see the dark silhouette of the man above him, and heard him chuckling with a voice that seemed to belong to an aging man.

"Lang Zi says: before aiming for the throat, chew the neck shield off first," he said quietly, in English.

Quercus had no idea what he was talking about, who Lang Zi was and what the hell that was supposed to mean. He only knew one thing: that he was trapped on the ground by a man whose targets were certainly Queen Luzula and Crown Princess Wilkiea, that the knee pressing on his chest kept him from even cry out in warning, that if he didn't get him off himself now they could both be killed and he would have failed, failed to protect them – and he had promised to himself that he's never again let anyone he was supposed to protect die on him.

_Never again._

With a growl that had very little of human left, Quercus's hand reached out and closed around something that lay on the ground right next to his head. Without even stopping one moment to think, he lifted the rock and slammed it on the man's knee – the one that was keeping him pinned down. The man let out a hiss of surprise and pain and instinctively reared back, and that brief moment was enough for Quercus to throw him off himself.

He heard the thud of someone hitting the ground, but he knew the fight was far from over. Still breathless but determinated not to be caught in a vulnerable position again, Quercus leapt back on his feet and braced himself for the next attack – one that came only a moment later.

Unable to see well enough in the dark to see what kind of attack he was facing, Quercus could only act out on instinct: he ducked, and a blow meant for his stomach hit his collarbone. It hurt, but not enough to stun him; he sank on one knee and reached blindly to grab one of his assailant's legs, and managed to throw him over his own shoulders and on the ground.

The men fell on the ground with a thud and a gasp, and Quercus took advantage of it to return the favor: in one instant he was on him, his knee pressing against the man's chest, and he smirked at the resulting wheezing sound.

"What now?" he growled, and he was about to increase the pressure when a sudden clicking sound reached his ears, followed by a pressure against his chest, and he froze, immediately realizing what had happened – the man had pulled out a gun and was now pressing it against him.

"You _bastard_...!" Quercus snarled, and was cut off by the man's wheezing laugh.

"Lang Zi says... thoroughly... bite the poisonous snake from head to tail," he managed to gasp despite the fact Quercus' knee was still firmly pressed against his chest. "In other words, look who's talking. Get off me," he added with a growl, pressing the gun more firmly against him.

Quercus fumed, but with a gun held against him he had little choice, so he obeyed he took a few steps back. Now he could perhaps manage to turn the tables if he moved quickly, if he could take out his ceremonial sword and swing it before the man could shoot...

"What is your business here?" The man spoke up, his voice gruff. Now that he had the time to truly look at him Quercus could see he was probably a few years older than himself, with iron-gray hair and moustache. He scoffed.

"Last time you sent a younger assassin," he spat. "Have the young people of this country turned out to be so cowardly that they had to recall old assassins from retirement?"

The man scoffed as well. "Little cubs, never do they know the real fury of the elder wolves," he muttered. "I could ask the same to you, though, since you don't look younger than-" he suddenly trailed off, as though having just realized something. "Wait a moment. You think I'm an assassin? Me, a vulgar _assassin_?"

What, Quercus thought, now he even had the nerve to be offended? "If in this country you have a fancier title for the ones like you, do enlighten me," he said sarcastically, still waiting for a moment's distraction so that he could draw the ceremonial sword and use it to render him harmless before warning the queen.

The other man's nostrils flared. "I'll have you know, then, that you're sorely mistaken," he snarled. "I am no assassin. I am Dai-Long Lang, of the House of Lang!"

Oh, yes, Quercus thought sarcastically, now everything made perfect sense, didn't it? "You're _who_ of the house of _what_?"

A snort. "Your ignorance is astonishing," was the reply. "Lang Zi says: a wolf who aims to hunt for two rabbits at once is bound to fail. So you not only thought you could get past the the surveillance and to the Queen of Cohdopia – you were also foolish enough to try doing so without even knowing who you'd have to get through," he muttered. "But oh well, this is going to be a lesson you'll have no chance to forget – that detective Dai-Long Lang of the glorious House of Lang is not someone to go against unprepared."

…wait a minute.

"Surveillance? Detective?" Quercus repeated, dead-panned. "You're a detective? And you were patrolling the area?"

"Why, you're surprisingly slow for someone who can fight so well," Dai-Long Lang snorted. "And now tell me who are you, why you attacked me and what business you have to be here. Or would you rather do so in front of the presidential guards?"

Quercus sighed. Well, it looked like he had managed to make a fool out of himself. The thought of lying and trying to get away crossed his mind, but with a gun pointed against him it was more trouble than it was worth. He could only hope the detective would be reasonable enough not to want what had happened to be known, or else the queen would have laughed at his expenses for years.

"I'm Quercus Alba, High General of Cohdopia," he finally said, his voice still flat.

A few moments of silence followed. Despite the dim light, Quercus could see the man stiffening. "You're not serious," he finally said, his voice a damn lot less pompous.

"My Cohdopian army uniform says I am," Quercus replied. "Although it's no wonder you can't see it in the dark. You do have a flashlight with you, do you not?"

A snort. "So that you can make your move while I reach for it? I wasn't born yesterday."

Quercus rolled his eyes. "Very well then, bring me in or let's just wait for someone to find us. I'm certain both my queen and your president will be thrilled by the lovely diplomatic incident that could ensue. Or else you could simply keep holding that gun with one hand and get your flashlight with the other so that you can make sure it's really me without anyone else getting involved. Whichever you prefer, Dai-Long Something of the House of Whatever."

He could hear the other man growling. "Lang Zi says: a cub who disrespects others soon feels the disciplinary bite of an elder."

"Yes, wonderful. I'm a bit past the right age to be called a 'cub', but I'll keep it in mind. Now, if you don't mind either pulling out that flashlight or lowering the gun…"

Another growl, but this time Dai-Long said nothing: he just reached into a pocket with his left hand, and a moment later Quercus had to close his eyes against the sudden, violent light. A few moments of silence followed.

"…well, I'll be," he heard the man's voice saying. "I almost shot a High General."

"I'm rather glad about that 'almost'," Quercus muttered, finally opening his eyes again now that the flashlight was being lowered. "Can you also put down that gun?"

There was a moment's hesitation, then the man lowered the gun. "Lang Zi says: until the root of the tongue dries, one never knows the whole truth," he said, putting it back in place.

Quercus blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"In the context? Nothing. But as for now I cannot think of any line from my ancestor that properly conveys the sentence 'let's go at the guards' infirmary to see what we can do about those bruises before this triggers a diplomatic incident', so I suppose that will have to do."

Quercus decided it would be for the best just stopping trying to make sense out of what that man said: he had received enough blows for that night, and didn't feel like adding a headache to them.

* * *

><p>Half a hour later, aside from being halfway done tending his bruises, Quercus felt like he knew a lot more about wolves and their packs; he certainly couldn't say he hadn't been learning a lot in that country, he thought sarcastically just as Dai-Long Lang – of the House of Lang, apparently – made sure to let him know that 'every pack has its own rules'.<p>

"That's very fascinating," he muttered, taking a close look at the bruise on his collarbone and deciding it wasn't even worth the trouble of keeping ice on it more than another minute. "But I would have appreciated if said pack let me know they were going to patrol the area at night."

Dai-Long Lang – a tall, lean man near his sixties who had probably been a fearsome opponent in his younger days – just shrugged, keeping the pack of ice pressed against a bruise on his shoulder. "I'm afraid, High General, that you're the one who wasn't supposed to be there tonight. Not to mention that attacking me was not a wise idea. You assumed I was an assassin, didn't you?"

Well, there was little to no point in denying it now. "I did."

"I see." The amused smile disappeared from Dai-Long Lang's face, and he suddenly looked very, very serious. "And were you there specifically to make sure no one would try to harm your queen? An admirable thing, High General, but it doesn't look like you have much faith in Zheng Fa. Lang Zi says: only cooperate with those you can trust. If you cannot trust us, if your country cannot trust mine, how can we to cooperate?"

Quercus was very much tempted to snap back that it was hard being trusting when one of their assassins had almost stabbed him in the heart, but he decided against it. "I'm afraid you misunderstand – I was not there to patrol, I was simply outside for some fresh air. I'm insomniac, I'm afraid. I simply assumed the worst when I saw you approaching Her Highness' window," he finally said, not truly caring whether he believed him or not. After all, what difference it could make? Neither of them would say anything about what had occurred, in order to avoid incidents or, more simply, embarrassment.

And in fact, Dai-Long Lang clearly didn't believe him. Still, he didn't pursue the matter any further and seemed to decide to change subject. "Lang Zi says: the elder wolf makes up for fallen teeth an waning vigor with experience. I can see that, despite advancing age, you're still a skilled fighter," he chuckled and took a brief look at one of his bruises. "I'm afraid I'm going to feel this in the morning."

"Why, thank you. I could say the same of you." Quercus finally put the ice pack down and reached to retrieve his shirt. "I was quite impressed, although I couldn't say so with your weight on my chest."

There was another booming laugh. "Well, we wouldn't have come to that had you taken the time to identify yourself before you tried to grab my neck from behind, don't you think?"

Quercus gave a brief chuckle. "True enough," he admitted. "But as I said, I assumed the worst. My apologies."

"No need to apologize. I have to say it was rather… refreshing," Dai-Long Lang said, and chuckled again at Quercus' perplexed look. "You see, I'm an investigator. I'm no bodyguard, and surveillance is definitely not what I usually do. But the President was quite desperate to make sure everything would go smoothly, and I couldn't find it in myself to refuse him this favor. I expected it to be quite the boring babysitting duty, to be honest, so I suppose I should thank you for making it more challenging."

Well, Quercus thought, it looked like they had something in common after all. "I could say precisely the same," he said. "The more time passes, the more I find myself missing the years I spent on the battlefield. My duty can get rather dull, to be honest, and I found our earlier… incomprehension to be refreshing as well. I suppose it shows some action is good for this veteran after all."

"Well then, it looks like what could have sparked a diplomatic incident was actually quite good for the both of us," was the other man's comment. "Though it was rather dangerous for you. I could have shot you."

Quercus smirked. "I'm rather glad you didn't. But to be honest, I'm also very confident I could have disarmed you if given enough time, had you not identified yourself."

Dai-Long Lang stared at him for a few moments before throwing back his head and giving yet another, somewhat howling laugh. "Lang Zi says: confidence is like a soul, and words without confidence are but empty shells. I must say, High General, that you have plenty of that confidence. Now I am almost sorry I revealed myself not to be an assassin; the fight would have certainly be interesting."

"But it would have likely sparked a diplomatic incident," Quercus was quick to remind him, a bit worried by the sudden, predatory glint in the man's eyes; he wouldn't have been too surprised if he went and suggested for them to resume the fight.

Instead, Dai-Long Lang just smiled. "True enough. Ah well. I'm sure you'd have been a worthy opponent."

Quercus nodded. "Likewise. Who knows, we might have another chance someday," he said.

That wouldn't happen: Quercus was to never cross paths with Dai-Long Lang again. But he would, many years later, recognize that predatory grin of his even before the Interpol agent Shi-Long Lang could properly introduce himself.

* * *

><p>"Did you want to speak to me, Your Highness?"<p>

Barely taking her eyes off the documents she was reading, Queen Luzula nodded and gestured for Quercus to sit across her desk. "Yes. It is a rather important matter."

Quercus took the seat. "Well then, I'm listening."

Still, she didn' t speak and stayed silent a few more moments instead. "My son was rather enthusiastic while talking about your meeting," she finally commented, still not looking up from the documents.

A small smile curled Quercus' lips. He had met the boy a few days before, and he had been rather amused by his open admiration – but most of all, he had been relieved to see that, while resembling his father far more than he resembled his mother, his mind was far more similar to hers than his sister's seemed to be. "I must say I found it to be a pleasant meeting as well, Your Highness. Prince Delphinium is quite the bright young man, and I'm certain he'll be of great help to the country."

The queen gave a small smile and finally put down the document she had been reading to look at him. "Is that what you think?"

"Yes, Your Highness. The boy has the potential to be a fine politician someday, and a valuable help to his sister when her time to rule comes."

"That's what I've been hearing for a few years, yes," Queen Luzula said with a nod. "But to be honest, I value your opinion more than most. My daughter is a good soul, High General, but she can be too naive then it's fitting for a ruler. Perhaps I was too lenient to her; perhaps I let my desire to give her a less rigid upbringing than my own get in the way. I chose to be a mother before being a queen, and sometimes I wonder if I made a grave mistake, if I made the wrong choice for this country."

Quercus shook his head. "You have nothing to blame yourself for, Your Highness. There are things that cannot be taught; after all, with the same upbringing, Prince Delphinium grew to be far more similar to you than she is. Besides, who knows? What we view as a weakness could also turn out to be her strength. Your mother was a great queen during her short rule; you're different from her, but a great ruler nonetheless."

Queen Luzula laughed at his last statement. "If I didn't know you as well as I do, High General, I'd think you're trying to flatter me," she commented. "Yes, I suppose what I see as weak points may also turn out to be her strength. Regardless, I am glad to know her brother wishes to aid her rather than..." her voice faded, and she fell quiet for a few moments.

It didn't take Quercus much to imagine why. "You were fearing he'd be resentful for never having a chance to inherit the throne, weren't you?"

She nodded. "Yes. After all, my own brother holds plenty of animosity towards me to this day." She gave a bitter smile. "He's over ten years older than I am, and my birth was... unexpected. He went from being the only heir to being pushed aside in favor of a newborn. The few memories I have of him are not ones I'm especially fond of."

Yes, Quercus did remember hearing about how Prince Senecio had tried to argue, soon after the queen's death, that as the first born he should be crowned It was clear to everyone he was going to lose that argument – after its first and only king, Primidux, the Cohdopian royal family had always followed a matriarchal line of succession – but the young man had kept hoping against hope he could make an exception for all the years of his father's regency. But then Luzula had been crowned, and he had left the capital out of spite; to that day, his whereabouts were unknown to most; he appeared to have retired to live in solitude somewhere in the Babahlese region, but few knew where, and Quercus had never seen any reason to ask.

"I don't think history will repeat itself, Your Highness," Quercus finally said. "Prince Delphinium seemed more than accepting of his place, and eager to prove himself useful. He wants to help his sister, not to take her place – they're close as siblings should be," he added, some bitterness in his voice. "Perhaps your choice to be a mother first and then a queen to them will actually be a benefit. It may turn out to be their strength."

She stared at him in silence for a few moments before finally nodding. "Yes, I suppose that's a fair point. They're still so young, after all; time will tell," she said with a sigh before leaning back against her seat. "But enough with this idle chat. This is not what you were called here for."

Quercus blinked. "It's not?"

"No. What I have to discuss with you is more important right now. It concerns you directly, High General, and the role I need you to take in our foreign politics. I told you once that I could see a fine politician beneath the uniform – and Cohdopia needs that politician now, just as it needed a competent general in the past."

There was a twinge of uneasiness as he listened to her words. "I'm afraid I'm not quite as perceptive as I used to be, Your Highness. I take it you have a duty for me, but I cannot figure out what kind."

Queen Luzula smirked. "That's hardly surprising, High General. It's hard to guess without knowing the details of the latest developments of Cohdopia's relationship with the Unites States, after all, and that's not the kind of information you've had to be bothered with. Until now."

That was true: Quercus knew next to nothing about their foreign politics with countries they didn't share borders with. It was of Cohdopia he had had to think of for the longest time, and even now the kind of... business he was running didn't go past the neighboring countries; so what need would he have to worry about their relationship with countries that were almost on the other side of the globe?

And why should he _now_?

"Do enlighten me, then," he said.

The queen nodded. "Of course. Do tell me, High General, have you heard the latest news from Borginia?"

He had. "Its government has apparently a _sudden_ desire for a better relationship with Cohdopia," he said.

"Yes. An interesting timing, wouldn't you think?"

Quercus shrugged. "I assume it's because we seem to have come far enough with the normalization of the relationship with Zheng Fa," he said. "I supposed they fear they may be left out by this change of politics. It was to be expected – those cowards never even got into a war without thinking they'd get at least some for of backup. That they might have to stand for themselves by themselves must be a terrifying thought," he added with a brief, scornful chuckle. "Cowards, as always."

Queen Luzula smiled. "While I do agree with your opinion of Borginia, I have to say you're partially wrong."

"Partially?"

A nod. "You are right, of course, when you say the reason of this sudden change of attitude is due to the sudden shift of balance; of course Borginia doesn't want to keep being in our black book now that we're getting in good terms with what used to be their best ally in the eastern area. But what truly worries them is the same thing that... convinced the President of Zheng Fa to work to mend things with Cohdopia. Namely, our latest agreements with the United States."

Quercus frowned in through. "What kind of agreements?"

She leant forward, elbows on the desk and chin resting on her folded hands. "This is the amusing part – nothing truly relevant. It's a simple matter of commerce, mostly concerning the paper we produce."

"Then why would they even-?"

"Because they do not know what it was about," she explained, looking rather self-satisfied. "Do tell me, High General – do you remember what you did many years ago, when you were a simple captain, during the war against Reijam? Do you remember how you handled the matter with the scouts approaching to see if the village you were at was guarded or not?"

He did remember. "I hid with the troops so that they would report that the village was unguarded, and nothing but small amount of troops was sent – one we could easily overpower."

"Precisely. You could have had them killed on sight, of course, but then what? The enemy would have guessed something was wrong when they did not return, and send more scouts. The same goes for spies."

"Spies?"

She chuckled. "Well, that is a fancy way to call them, but I suppose it's how you're supposed to refer to people who get a generous payment for passing over classified information. Both Zheng Fa and Borginia – even Reijam – have several of such people here in Cohdopia. Unluckily for them, I've been aware of their presence and identity for a long time. You can imagine now what I did, can you not?"

A sly smirk curled Quercus' lips. "You're using them at your advantage," he said. "Pretending not to be aware of what they are and only feeding them information you _want_ them to know and report. Is that it?"

A nod. "Exactly."

"And what did you exactly have them knowing?"

Queen Luzula shrugged in a rather un-regal fashion. "Nothing in particular: just very vague information on an important agreement. Information that is on a need-to-know basis, and since none of them is in a position in which they would need to know it, I can keep the harmless nature of said agreement from them without arising suspects it might be a bluff. And it worked – or do you think the sudden friendliness from Zheng Fa first and now Borginia was a coincidence?"

Now Quercus could see exactly what she had meant to do. By giving only vague information on the nature of the agreement between Cohdopia and the United States, she had manage to create a better chance for a lasting peace with the neighboring countries than they had ever had: with the doubt such a powerful country may come to Cohdopia's aid in case of conflict, none of them would take the risk of breaking the existing peace. Still... "This assumption of theirs may help for a few years," Quercus finally said. "Careful as we may be not to let out any information concerning this 'agreement', the truth might come out at some point."

The queen nodded. "I am aware of that, of course. Now, on one hand it wouldn't be too much of a hassle should they find out – they cannot accuse us of lying after all, since they merely made all the wrong assumptions – but on the other hand, we do have everything to gain in getting as close as we can to the United States. Even more than the smuggling, _that_ could be our best insurance against hostilities."

Quercus had to admit she had a point: with such a powerful country as their ally, the neighboring countries would avoid conflicts as much as possible. It did sound like the best insurance they could possibly have.

"So you're planning on relying on diplomacy rather than on maintaining the connections we formed with the smuggling business?"

She gave a low hum. "In the long run, yes. But not right away; we need to be certain we can reach or goal before we drop the kind of... _insurance _we have right now, don't you think?"

"I see. Then I take it you're planning on working on diplomacy and yet keep the smuggling business running until we're sure we're actually on to something with the United States," Quercus muttered, and the queen nodded. "But I have to ask, then – what is it you want me to do, Your Highness? As you already stated, I know little to nothing about our foreign politics with distant counties. I could learn more, of course, but I fail to see how that would help since my role has nothing to do with-"

"Your _current_ role doesn't, no," she cut him off. "But then again, roles can change."

Quercus shut his mouth at stared at her for a few moments, completely caught off guard. "What do you mean by that?" he finally asked slowly. There was a sudden, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"It means that while I still need you to run the smuggling operations, I also need you to be the one to work so that a closer bond can be formed with the United States. It _has_ to be you; it's a matter of the utmost importance, and there truly is nobody else I feel I can completely trust with this, nobody else who's as loyal and competent as you are. This means, of course, that you'll have to take a new role – one that will allow you to accomplish this mission."

Quercus' hands clenched on the seat's armrests. "What role are you precisely referring to?" he asked. The odd feeling in his stomach was still there; he had the sensation he wasn't going to like whatever Queen Luzula was about to tell him. He wasn't wrong on that.

"In six months' time, you'll be the new Cohdopian ambassador to the United States."

_Bang!_

Queen Luzula barely even flinched when Quercus suddenly stood, almost knocking the heavy seat on the marble floor, and slammed both of his hands on the surface of her desk. "NO! Your Highness, you can't-"

"I believe it is not your place or anyone else's telling me what I can or cannot do," she said coldly. "Another burst of temper like that, High General, and I'll be calling the guards. You can push me further than anyone else alive, but there are limits you don't _want_ to get past. Sit back down."

Quercus ground his teeth so hard that his gums hurt, and did not sit as she had told him to. He did, however, make an effort to keep his temper in check. "Your Highness, I _beg_ you to reconsider," he gritted out. "I followed each and every order you ever gave me; my loyalty to you never wavered once. I put my life on the line more times than I care to recall, because I swore to serve this country and you until my last breath and to give you even my last drop of blood if necessary. I served you without complaint for years, put your wishes above mine and your well-being over anything else, and I'll keep doing so as long as you allow me. I-" he trailed off when Queen Luzula stood as well, raising her hand to silence him.

"Why is it, then, that you refuse _this_ order?"

Her voice was cold, that of someone who demanded an explanation right away. Quercus gritted his teeth.

"It should be obvious," he almost spat. "After all these years of loyal service, after all I did for you and this country and your family, I'd expect something different from what's nothing short of _exile_."

She tilted her head on one side. "Exile?" she repeated, her voice calm. "I can't honestly see how representing your country could be considered anywhere close to exile, High General. Besides, you do not need to remind me how well you've served me and this country: I'm perfectly aware of that, and it's exactly the reason why I trust you and no one else with this duty."

Quercus opened his mouth to retort, but found himself unable to speak for a few moments. He looked away. "I've never been that far from this country, never that far from Your Highness. Should my presence ever be needed here again, would I even make it back on time? I already once-" he trailed off before he could let anything too personal out and drew in a deep breath before falling silent. Truth to be told, he could not truly put his finger of what was that repulsed him so much in the idea of becoming an Ambassador. Perhaps it truly was the thought it would feel too much like an exile in a gilded cage, perhaps it was because it would mean giving up a title – High General – that still did classify him as an army man, even if he was now nothing more than a bureaucrat. If he were to become an ambassador… even that would be taken from him.

Queen Luzula shook her head, as though guessing his thoughts. "Don't lie to me, High General," she said, something akin to sadness in her voice. "This is not about being away from me as it isn't about being away from Cohdopia. Because I've learned that there is no place, in Cohdopia or elsewhere, where you truly _want_ to be. Is there?"

For just a moment Quercus thought back of a small village almost at the outskirts of the Babahlese region that he hadn't visited in years, of a house that smelled of soap and clean sheets and freshly baked bread, of a garden that smelled of soft dark soil under the sun – but he knew not even that was the answer. Because it did feel like home, yes, but he did not want to be there. He was no longer the kind of man to enjoy such simple things: it could be soothing, but it never sated him. In the end, he would be looking forward to leave. There truly was no place where he _wanted_ to be. Perhaps that was why he had found some peace in army life: because there was no set place to be, because he was to leave before he could get too sick of one place or another. The queen had to see the realization dawning on his face, for she gave another melancholic smile.

"See? It would truly make no difference for you in the end. You're not satisfied even now."

Quercus lowered his head and closed his eyes.

_No, young old man. It will never be enough for you._

There was the light touch of a hand lifting his chin. Quercus opened his eyes to see Queen Luzula standing right in front of him, her eyes fixed in his. "Do you think I'd be ordering for your to leave if there was any other way, if I trusted anyone else as much as I trust you?" She asked quietly, her voice flat – unnaturally so.

He gave her a bitter smile. "Why not? I'm a soldier, Your Highness. Soldiers are expendable. Even I, it seems, despite a lifetime's efforts not to be."

She stiffened, and her grip on his chin seemed to tighten. "Not you," she spoke sharply. "And not to me."

A brief silence followed. Then, slowly, Quercus nodded. "I'll need to arrange things so that I can keep running everything from the States," he finally said quietly. "I'll also need to settle some other matters," he added, thinking of Issoria for the first time in a few weeks. He hadn't paid her a visit in a long time – years – and he wanted to see her again before he left Cohdopia.

Queen Luzula let go of him and nodded. "Of course. As I said, you have six months. Will they be enough?"

"Yes, Your Highness, they will be enough for me. What of you?" Quercus asked.

He was pushing his luck, he was aware of that, but as he had expected she did not react with anger. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but in the end said nothing: she just reached to put her arms around his neck and drew him close, resting her head against his shoulder. He instinctively reached to hold her back.

"How careless of me, falling straight in the trap I was so set to avoid," she said, her voice oddly muffled against his uniform. She didn't need to be any more specific: Quercus knew exactly what she was referring to, and for a moment he almost pitied her – what she had wanted from him almost against her own will was something that was no longer his to give, something he had lost a long time before. His hand reached up to stroke her hair, and he rested his cheek on top of her head.

"I'll come back to visit as often as I can, Your Highness. You have my word."

She swallowed before speaking again. "Stay for the night," she murmured.

He stayed.

* * *

><p><em>A little end chapter AN:  
>nope, the queen's time isn't up just yet. Not in this chapter, at least. Sorry for trying to trick you into thinking so, Indochine - tricking you is so hard, I wanted to see if I could manage to. So, did I? <em>XD


	23. Long Live the Queen

Quercus waited until a few days before his departure to pay Issoria the first visit in years.

He simply had no time before then: now that he would move all the way to the United States there were plenty of things to rearrange in order to keep running the smuggling ring as though nothing happened. What took him most time was figuring out how to use his network of connections – one he had been expanding in those years, to the point whatever Vulneraria had achieved looked like little more than a child's play – so that none of them would notice the headquarters, so to speak, had moved elsewhere. Unlikely as it was, there was the possibility someone could realize there was a link between a sudden change in the ring's inner workings and his new duty as the Ambassador of Cohdopia in the States, and he couldn't allow that: he had kept his identity a secret from everyone but very few and trusted people, and he intended to keep it that way.

As soon as everything was sorted out, he asked for a couple of days' leave; the last leave he'd ever ask, he had thought bitterly on his way to Issoria's home village, for soon enough he would no longer be an army man. The thought never failed to make him feel somewhat lost – something that Issoria could see right away.

She knew him better than anyone else ever did, after all.

"You're scared, aren't you?"

Quercus shook his head, eyes still fixed on the glass in his hand. Anise liqueur – the same one she'd offer him every time he came to visit, since the first night he had spent under her same roof. It wasn't his favorite, but he never refused a glass. "Scared? Not quite, no," he said quietly. He took a swig and turned to glance out of the window. It was dark already and he could not need outside, so he just stared at her reflection on the glass. She had to be close to seventy now, and it showed in the almost completely white air and the time it had taken her to get up her armchair to greet him. Her joints had been bothering her for a while, he knew that from her letters – but he hadn't expected it to be so bad. She didn't seem bothered, but it still unnerved him seeing that she was truly growing old and frail and that death may not be too far away from her. He chased the thought away and spoke again.

"I suppose you could say I'm lost," he admitted, breaking the brief silence: she had said nothing, clearly having known he was not yet done speaking. "I've been my soldier all of my life."

He saw her reflection on the window shaking her head. "No. Not all of your life."

Quercus scoffed and finished his liquor in one swig. "What was there before the army is dead and buried. It's unnerving how you keep forgetting that," he said dryly.

"That's odd, young old man. I keep getting the impression you're the one to forget. You choose to."

Quercus said nothing to that: it was nothing but the truth, after all, and he couldn't find it in himself to argue. "How is Daphne doing?" he asked to change subject, finally turning away from the window to look at her directly. He knew what university she was attending: it was a renewed one in the capital, one not far from his own residence, but he had never contacted her directly, nor he had met her. It would simply feel wrong, meeting her anywhere outside that village. Not to mention that last time he had seen her she was still a young girl who'd be looking forward to help him gardening; now she was a young woman, and he wasn't sure if there would be anything at all they could even try to talk about.

Issoria smiled, a soft kind of smile that was somewhat different from any other smile he ever saw on her, one that was only meant for her children. "She's perfectly fine. The first semester of medicine was hard, or so she told me, but she isn't one to give up easily. She seems to like it in the capital," she paused, then chuckled softly. "You know, she came to visit last month. To check on me and the garden, she said. And it took me a little by surprise hearing her voice again."

She didn't need to explain why: Quercus could imagine what she meant. "She's losing her accent, isn't she?" he asked, already knowing the answer. It wasn't uncommon for the students from the Babahlese region to try losing their accent when studying in the universities of the Allebahstian one: the latter was considered far more advanced, and many of them would try to dissimulate their origins.

Issoria laughed. "Oh, she's been trying to, alright. And she on the way to succeed, apparently. You'd be surprised to hear how much like you she sounds now."

Quercus' lips curled into a small smile. "Does she?" he murmured, not quite knowing whether that amused or unnerved him. He decided to drop the matter and reached to put his now empty glass on the small table in front of the couch he was sitting onto. He sighed and looked up at her again. "Will you still write me?"

She seemed surprised by her question. "Of course. Why shouldn't I?"

He shook his head. To be honest, he couldn't tell what the reason of that sudden worry was. As she had said, why shouldn't she? "Never mind," he said, turning away. But there had to be something off in his voice or expression, something he didn't realize was there and that she picked up, for she reached to take his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. He held it back, not looking at her, saying nothing.

They wouldn't meet again until ten years later, in circumstances neither would have ever imagined.

* * *

><p>It took Quercus no more than ten minutes to decide that he <em>really<em> didn't like it in the States.

Of course, the fact the day of his arrival rain was pouring from the sky as though the heavens had decided to try downing the world didn't help his first impression _at all_ – especially since the storm gave him no little amount of grief as the State plane he was onto had to fly over the airport about a dozen times, waiting for more favorable conditions to land. A minor setback, but the thunders and lighting were too close for his tastes, and the plane kept swerving from left to right _way_ too much.

"On the bright side, sir, the flight wasn't too monotonous," a flight attendant said, sounding far too cheerful to be truly convincing.

Quercus, who would have gladly taken monotony over _that_ any day of the week, snorted and dug his fingers in his seat's armrests. "I'm afraid I very much prefer staying with my feet firmly rooted to the ground," he almost growled. "Had I wanted _this_ kind of excitement, I'd have signed up for the Air Force back in the day."

The flight attendant let out something that sounded far too close to a barely repressed chuckle, but Quercus didn't even pay heed to it. Good Lord, he thought, was sick of that country already and he had _yet_ to set foot on its soil.

Now that was starting out rather well.

Quercus closed his eyes, trying to block out the unpleasant sensation of being locked into a metallic box at the mercy of a storm hell knew how many feet above the ground. He thought back of his last talk with the queen only hours before that morning's departure. It hadn't been a long talk, and they had talked of nothing but politics through most of it. Only when it had been time for him to go she had reached up to brush back his hair, not without giving a quick look around to make sure none of the guards was looking.

"I look forward to hearing from you again," she had said quietly.

"I'll make a call as soon as I've gone through all the formalities in the embassy, Your Highness."

She had nodded, and her hand had gone to touch the medals gleaming on his chest. She had smiled a little. "Aren't you going to change into civilian clothes, Ambassador Alba?"

Quercus had shaken his head. "No. I'll keep wearing army uniforms until the day I draw my last breath, Your Highness, whatever my role from now on will be. What better proof of my loyalty to Cohdopia than this uniform?"

"I see. Once a soldier, always a soldier. Isn't that what they say?"

He had nodded, reaching up to rest his hand on hers; it was resting right over the scar the assassin from Zheng Fa had left on him in that same place so many years before, barely above his heart.

"Yes. It's also said that you can take the person out of the military, but you cannot take the military out of the person."

"How very fitting," she had murmured with a weak smile. For a moment she had seemed about to say something else, but she had shut her mouth and clenched her jaw instead, and had taken a step back, her hand sliding out from beneath his. "I believe it is time for you to go. It's a long flight that awaits you."

Quercus had nodded. "Yes, Your Highness," he had said, bowing a little before turning to leave the Flower Garden. He had only made a few steps before she had called out again.

"General Alba."

General Alba. How many years had passed since last time she had called him that?

_Eight years. Too many._

He had turned, and sank on one knee. He didn't have to: much like the High General, ambassadors could simply bow to the queen. But he couldn't help himself: for a moment it felt like the right thing to do, the only possible response at being called, once again, with the grade he had when he could still consider himself a proper army man.

"Your Highness?" he had asked, and she had said-

"Ambassador Alba?"

Quercus was startled out of the memory by the flight attendant's voice. He opened his eyes to glance up at him. "What is it?"

"We're about to land, sir."

He turned to open the shutter over the window – he had shut it when the storm had started because he really didn't feel like looking down through it, thank you very much – to see the city's lights getting closer and closer, so bright they almost hurt his eyes. He kept staring at them, though, refusing to look away, the last words he had exchanged with Queen Luzula echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

_Do not fail me._

_I won't, my Queen._

* * *

><p>What awaited him at the embassy was just as insufferable as he had expected: he had to go through what had to be the longest and most pompous inaugural ceremony that had ever been held. He had to meet authorities and staff members, shake hands, politely refuse an avalanche of food, sit through a speech from the former ambassador, make a speech of his own, refuse more food, shake hands again, refuse some more food and eventually accept a drink out of sheer desperation so that he wouldn't collapse and they would quit offering him anything at all – all that before being dragged into a tour of the whole blasted building.<p>

It appeared that none of those imbeciles had taken a moment to consider that the long flight and the resulting jet lag would take its toll in him, he thought in annoyance when the previous ambassador – an insufferably talkative old idiot called Scirpus – dragged him along from room to room blabbering about how much he admired him for his victories at war. The fact he kept babbling such nonsense rather than properly explaining what each room was for would have annoyed him hadn't he been exhausted and all too eager to get rid of that blithering fool and _sleep_.

In the end, he was even grateful for the rain that kept them from going outside to continue that very much unwanted tour; when the old ambassador finally left for good and he could finally walk into his new quarters, Quercus felt as though he'd been up without sleeping for days.

And he certainly had to _sound_ like it, too, at least judging from the queen's comment as soon as she took his call. "You sound all the world like you've been marching for a week straight," she commented, amusement clear in her voice.

"To be honest, Your Highness, I doubt marching ever felt this draining," he muttered dryly, gazing out of the window to see nothing but darkness and rain. He reached up to put a hand on his forehead, feeling the beginning of what threatened to turn into a bad headache and regretting having accepted to drink _any_ alcohol without eating anything first.

"You're tired from the journey, General, that's all," she said, causing Quercus to wonder if she even realized she kept referring to him as a general despite the fact he was now an ambassador. Was it to make him feel better? Was it to mock him? Was it because she honestly couldn't yet think of him as anything but an army man either? He honestly couldn't tell.

"I suppose I am. I cannot say the jet lag helped, either."

From the other side of the line, Queen Luzula chuckled. "I will not keep you up any further, then. Go get some rest; you'll need to be lucid tomorrow, so that you can start taking on your duties as the ambassador."

Despite exhaustion, Quercus' lips curled into a smile. "As you wish, mother," he said a little mockingly.

A snort. "Go to sleep."

"Don't I get a bedtime story?"

A pause. "… you're slipping into the hyper phase of exhaustion, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I am, yes. That, and I had champagne. It turns out you shouldn't drink it with an empty stomach," he added, faintly hoping she wouldn't wonder why he hadn't eaten anything on the plane or in the embassy; he wasn't truly looking forward to let her – or anyone – know how little fondness he had for flying.

He could hear her sighing before she spoke again. "Ambassador."

"Your Highness?"

"_Sleep_."

"Your wish is my command."

He could hear her giving a small chortle before ending the call. He hung the receiver, glanced once again at the darkness outside, and finally focused on taking off his cloak and medals. He didn't go much further than that, though: he was simply too tired. He only took the time to take off his uniform's jacket and kick off his boots before allowing himself to collapse on the king-sized bed he would spend his nights for hell knew how much time.

He didn't fall asleep immediately as he had expected, though: he stayed awake for some time, listening to the falling rain with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, at the rumbling of thunder growing more and more distant. He recalled, if barely, the heavy drops of rain that had fallen on the smoking ruins of his house while he held Laurie's corpse; he recalled the icy cold rain that soaked him to the bone while he marched through the mud in the training camp; he recalled the thunder and lighting that had filled the air the day he had been promoted to General, of how he had smiled at the dark sky above him as the first drops began to fall.

So many years, he thought, so many hardships and dangers to come that far – could it be that he would truly end his life into an office so far away from his country, inside a gilded cage? Was that… _it_?

Quercus tried to think some more about it, to give himself an answer, but in the end he was too tired to: his thoughts grew entangled and confused, and he just stopped trying and listened to the rain without thinking.

Ambassador Quercus Alba closed his eyes and slept, dreaming of nothing.

* * *

><p>Despite exhaustion, the habit of getting up early he had picked up in the army was as hard to die as ever; so the sun had barely even risen when Quercus awoke. And aside from the security he was the first one to, clearly, for the Embassy was almost empty when he stepped out of his room. He didn't mind: it meant he could finally allow himself to walk through the embassy after having rested properly and without an annoying old man babbling in his ear all the time.<p>

And, he had to admit, it was far more enjoyable than it had been the previous evening. The embassy truly was huge, and more luxurious than he had expected. From what he had gathered, there had been quite some renewing in the past few months. Not surprising at all, Quercus mused: if they were to give a good impression to the United States, they could as well start by making their embassy look at its best. Quercus took a mental note to pick another room as his office – the current one didn't get enough light through its window and that wouldn't do, for he was about to have his plants shipped to the embassy from Cohdopia and they were going to need sunlight – and kept walking through the still almost empty building.

Luxury had little effect on him after so many years spent between the royal palace and the High General's residence back in Cohdopia; but what did have quite an effect on him was the garden – something that he could not see the previous night, with the rain still falling. It was nowhere as huge as the Flower Garden of the royal palace of Cohdopia was, but it still was fairly large and, most importantly, filled with more flowers than Quercus had thought he could see in the same place anywhere outside the royal palace. There were mostly roses – a member of the staff would later tell him they had taken on calling it the Rose Garden, and Quercus had seen no reason to refer to it any other way – but also a large variety of other flowers, especially around the two small pools on both ends of the garden. Quercus approached the rose bushes on his left, and noticed that the soil was soft, as though it had been excavated recently. Perhaps the bushes had been planted not too long ago, Quercus reasoned, perhaps around the same time the embassy's renewing and-

"Oh, here you are sir!"

Quercus turned to look at a tall, brown-haired man with a moustache and green eyes. He vaguely remembered seeing the previous evening; his name or role, however, he could not remember.

"It appears you caught me," Quercus said with a chuckle. "Is something the matter?"

The man, who appeared to be in his mid-forties, shook his head. "Oh, no, not at all. Mr. Caprea – your secretary – simply wondered where you went so early in the morning. You haven't had any breakfast yet, have you? Mr. Caprea says he distinctly remembers you didn't eat anything last night, either."

Quercus held back a sigh, faintly wondering if he was just doomed to have secretaries who behaved everything like mother hens. "I used to be an army man, so I will not collapse if I don't fill my stomach in the next five minutes," he said, turning to glance back at the roses. "It's quite the garden you've got here."

The man smiled an open, friendly smile. "Yes, it truly is," he agreed. "It wasn't this gorgeous until a few weeks ago, but Her Highness specifically asked for this," he said, gesturing to the garden. "To be honest, I think it was a wonderful idea. It's by far the best part out of all the renewing that's been going on in the past few months. It's quite an enjoyable place to spend lunch break, too, if you're up for taking some advice."

Quercus frowned in thought, wondering if he was the reason why the queen had specifically asked for that garden to be made; she certainly knew what a wind down gardening was for him, since that she had taken on referring to the plants he tended as 'his children', so it was possible it was… a way to make him feel more at home? He almost smiled at the thought. It wasn't enough, never enough – he wasn't home _ever_, no matter _where_ he was – but it was still something to spend some time onto, a pastime he could appreciate.

"I think I'll definitely take on your advice," he finally said. "That, and I'd like to tend to the garden myself."

The other man blinked. "Are you certain, sir? From the looks of it, tending to it is quite the hard work, and-"

"One doesn't spend almost forty years in the army without being willing to dirt their hands and do some work," Quercus cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Or do you think I'm growing too old for that?"

"Oh. Oh, no, sir, not at all," he replied quickly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry if I gave you that impression."

Quercus shrugged. "It is quite alright; I'm no longer a young man, am I? And you do not look like someone who's ever been through army life." He chuckled and turned back to the man. "I'm afraid I have to ask your name once again. I can't quite recall it."

He didn't seem bothered by that. "My name is Deid Mann, sir. Of the Press and Communication office."

Quercus gave him a nod. "I see. I'd introduce myself as well, but I suppose it would be rather pointless," he muttered before looking at the fountain. "You know, I think I'll take on your advice right away. Would you be as kind as letting whoever is concerned know that I'll be having my breakfast out here?"

"Right away, sir."

Quercus followed him with his gaze for a few moments, then he turned back to the garden and allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he wasn't bound to hate _everything_ about that place, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Cohdopian Embassy, May 2006<strong>

The garden had turned out not to be the only good thing about that embassy. Of course, it was the side of it he enjoyed the most – but as far as his… _business_ went, it had turned out to be an ideal ground. Not only it put him in the position of widening his network of connections – it was only natural that an embassy would have plenty, was it not? Just like that Amano Group he had recently started building ties to – but it also granted an extra layer of protection in case something could possibly go awry: extraterritoriality. Yes, being an ambassador had its privileges.

But of course, it also had its downsides. Aside from the frustration of no longer being an army man even on paper – though he had kept wearing nothing but army uniform and fully intended to be buried with it, because that was something no one would take from him – there truly was plenty of work to do to strengthen their ties with the United States as the queen wished: meetings, speeches, negotiations for commercial agreements and attending to some of the most boring and uselessly fancy events Quercus could ever recall having to attend to.

In face of all that, running the smuggling operations had soon turned into less of a chore and more of a hobby. Not quite a wind down for him as gardening was, but it still satisfied him being able to give the slip of the laws of so many countries – now including the most powerful one in the world – and still being untouchable. It was the one thing he had left to prove how powerful he was, what he could achieve with so many years of work; it was something that never failed to make him proud… almost as much as the roses he was tending to right now.

Almost.

The bushes had been growing wonderfully in the past couple of years, something he never failed to mentally pat himself on the back for since it had been mostly him to care for them; some initial surprise aside, the staff members had quickly grown used to seeing him walking through the garden with shears or a shovel slung over one shoulder and often a sack of soil slung over the other one.

"So much for an old man," Quercus had heard one of the staff members saying one day, without noticing he was walking by to go pick up the shears. He had very much purposely cleared his throat at that, causing the man to grow beet read and start mumbling apologies. It had been quite amusing, actually, and for a moment he had been tempted to-

"Ambassador Alba, sir!"

The alarmed voice that rang through the garden caused Quercus to still and turn, shears still in his hands, to the man who had called out for him and was now walking up to him with quick steps. It was his secretary, an aging man who wasn't precisely easy to worry – and now he did look worried, if not downright anguished. Quercus felt a pang of uneasiness. "What is it? Has something happened?"

The man nodded, his breath coming in gasps, and Quercus assumed he had ran down the stairs looking for him. "Yes, sir. It is… we just received a phone call… it was so unexpected, and… Her Highness…"

_Her Highness...?_

The pang of uneasiness turned into fear. Without even thinking, Quercus dropped the shears and reached to grab the collar of the man's shirt, shaking him. "What about Her Highness? Speak clearly, damn you!"

Salix Caprea swallowed before speaking again, some measure of self-control finally showing in his voice. "She had… it seems to have been a stroke, sir. This morning. It's still too soon to estimate the neurological damage – they told me she regained consciousness, but she cannot move almost at all. The doctors are very pessimistic on a possible recovery, and they think that it could end her suddenly. She asked for your presence, Ambassador, so I believe… Ambassador…?"

Quercus didn't hear him calling out, he heard nothing but a faint buzzing sound in his ears. He wanted nothing more than believe that it wasn't true, that it wasn't happening; they had met only weeks earlier during his annual visit to Cohdopia, they had talked by phone only two days earlier – how _could_ that be happening?

"Cancel any appointments I may have had. I want the plane to be ready to take off immediately," he said, hearing his own voice as though coming from miles away. His mind was still unable to fully grasp the enormity of what he was hearing – that Queen Luzula, _his_ queen, might be about to die – nor all the implications that could have for him. But what he knew, beyond doubt, was that this time he would not be too late. This time he would not arrive only minutes too late to see nothing but ruins and death. This time it would be different.

And it was.

* * *

><p>It was late evening when the plane landed in the capital of Cohdopia. The update he received the moment he set foot in the airport was not reassuring: her condition was steadily worsening, and the doctors did not expect her to live through the night. But she was still alive, and wanted to see him; that was why Quercus wasted no time at all. Barely half a hour after the landing, he was at the hospital wing of the royal palace.<p>

The queen had requested to see him alone, do no one – not even her children, who seemed to be too devastated to even think of arguing – went inside with him. For a few moments he could not make any sense out of what his eyes were seeing, as though his mind was rejecting the mere idea the pale, frail being on that bed surrounded by tubes and machines could truly be _her_ – the child who held herself with pride in front of the gathered troops, the girl who had told him they'd meet again once he made it to the top, the woman who had seen his worth first and had helped shaping his destiny, the powerful queen Cohdopia had needed.

Then she opened her eyes and turned to look at him, and smiled despite the small tubes that went up her nose. "Ambassador Alba," she greeted him weakly. "I didn't expect you to make it here so soon."

Her voice was enough to snap him from his denial. Yes, it was her – it truly was _her_. "I couldn't stand the thought of being too late again, Your Highness," he said, kneeling beside the bed.

She looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression on her tired face. "Again?"

Quercus hadn't realized that slip. For a moment he found himself trying to come up with an excuse, more out of habit than anything else – lying now came so much more natural than telling the truth – but he decided against it: there was no more time nor reason for mind games between them. "I arrived too late to say goodbye once already, many years ago," he said. "I couldn't let it happen again."

"I… see," she said quietly. "Your family?"

"Yes, Your Highness. They died under a bombing, as you know. And I arrived minutes after their death."

"I understand," she looked thoughtful now, almost inquisitive, and she suddenly looked a lot more like herself, if still frail and weak. "And it still haunts you, after all these years?"

Quercus shut his eyes. "Yes."

"I thought… you said to me once that you had no regrets," she murmured.

He kept his head bowed and his eyes shut. "Then I lied to you, Your Highness. I do have one regret in life, and it is having been too late to do anything for my family, or to die with them."

She may be weak, but her gaze was piercing as ever. "That means that your one, true regret is being alive."

Quercus opened his mouth to answer, but no words left him for a few moments. He finally sighed. "My greatest regret right now is being unable to do anything," he said bitterly. "This is an enemy I cannot fight."

"I know. I certainly… didn't expect you to," her voice reached him as though from a mile away, weak as it was. "Nevertheless, I still have something to ask of you."

He looked back at her and instinctively reached to put his hand over hers. It was so pale, so small, so cold, so _frail_. "Anything, Your Highness."

"Keep working to get us… closer… to the States. I still believe that's going to be our best insurance for… a lasting stability. The sooner we achieve that, the sooner… the smuggling ring will stop being needed. You're going to be completely on control from now on. You'll have to… end it when the time is right."

Quercus clenched his jaw. "I will. You have my word," he said, not yet knowing that for the very first time he was making her a promise he wouldn't keep. She couldn't know it, either, and gave a weak smile.

"Thank you, General. For everything."

Something in Quercus' chest tightened painfully, and for a moment he could barely breathe. "Your Highness…" he whispered. They gazes met and held for a few instants; then her eyes moved to his face, as though she was trying to memorize every detail. Finally, she smiled again – a somewhat distant smile.

"I am very tired, General. I'd like to sleep," she said quietly, and Quercus knew in that instant that she would not wake up from that slumber, that there wouldn't be another dawn for her, that she truly had reached the end of the line – and that this was to be a farewell.

And he did not know what to say, because a farewell to someone who had been important to him – truly important – was something he had never had to go through before, having never had a chance to bid farewell to his own family. But perhaps nothing would have changed even if he could think of anything to say, because he didn't think he'd be able to think of anything she didn't know already – and he knew how much she disliked lengthy speeches where they were not needed. In the end he simply brought her limp hand to his lips and lightly kissed it, looking straight into her slowly closing eyes.

"Good night, my Queen."

* * *

><p>It was in the darkest hour before dawn and into an unnatural silence that the flags on top of the royal palace were lowered to half-mast. Quercus watched in silence as black ribbons were tied to the banners at the entrance, his jaw clenched and gaze unfocused.<p>

"So long live the Queen," he finally said bitterly, his voice lost in the thundering noise of the cannon shots telling to a still sleeping capital that Queen Luzula was gone.


	24. Manny Coachen

_A/N: I know this update was pretty late. I'm sorry about that, but last week was a busy one and I just couldn't get the chapter done on time. Hope it's worth the wait._

* * *

><p>There was a week of mourning, as it was custom, before the funeral could take place; three more days passed before Wilkiea was crowned. Ten days in total – ten days that felt like ten years, and not just because they seemed to never end: Quercus did quite literally feel as though ten more years had been dropped on his shoulders. He could hear some murmurs about it when he was leaving or entering a room, murmurs of how aged he looked and what a hard blow Queen Luzula's death had been to him.<p>

As much as he despised showing any weakness, this time he couldn't find it in himself to stand up straight and glare at them, show them that he was not some weak aging man. He felt too weary, and what was the point? It was so plain to everyone what a blow Queen Luzula's death had been to him; even if he did put up an act, he doubted anyone would fall for it. So he didn't bother to. He would rise again, as he always had – but _now_ he had as much right as anyone else to mourn.

"Ambassador Alba."

Quercus stopped in his tracks and turned to see Prince Delphinium walking up to him, a concerned expression on his face. He was not an especially good-looking young man – he took mostly after his father, who was plain at the very best – but he had soft features and warm brown eyes that made him look even younger than his eighteen years, and incredibly _innocent_. Hadn't Quercus _known_ he was far more similar to his mother than his sister was, he would have not guessed it

"Your Highness," he greeted him, turning to face him and giving him a bow. "Is something the matter?"

Prince Delphinium shook his head. "Not especially. But Wilkiea saw you leaving the crowning ceremony, and… well, she could not dismiss everyone yet, so she asked me to come after you. Which I would have done myself in any case," the young man said. "We've been wondering for a few days – are you alright?"

For a moment, just a moment, Quercus felt like scoffing. No, he wasn't – how could he be?

"I suppose I had better moments," he said instead. "But do not concern yourselves about me. I lost a family, I lost thousands soldiers, I'll come to terms with this loss as well. Your sister has a country to rule now – and you have a sister to help. Do not waste your time on an ambassador."

The young man's jaw clenched, and he glanced away. He looked as thought he was struggling to retain control, and Quercus could understand why: prince or not, he was eighteen and he had lost his mother. "I always said I couldn't wait to help my sister rule," he said bitterly. "But not like this. Not so _soon_."

Quercus supposed it had to seem absurd to him, losing his mother when she was not yet in her fifties – but then again, Quercus had lost a sister who was barely seven, another still in her twenties and parents who were no older than he was now… not to mention all the young men he had seen dying at war. He was used death coming from the young far more than the prince could ever be. "If life has taught me something, Your Highness, it's that fate is harder on those who least deserve it, and that it strikes when most unexpected. It's a harsh truth, but _it is_ the truth. As the new queen's advisor, you cannot allow yourself to ever forget it."

A sigh. "Am I even ready to be an advisor?"

"Is your sister ready to be queen?" Quercus remarked. "We do not know. Time will tell, I suppose, but wondering now is of no use. Her High-" He trailed off, and sighed before speaking again. "Your mother is gone, and you _have_ to take on her role. Your sister _must_ be a ruler, and you _must_ be her advisor."

Prince Delphinium looked back at him for a few moments before he slowly nodded. "I see," he said. "We'll do the most with what we have, I suppose."

There was a brief silence that Quercus broke after a few moments. "Do go back to your sister's crowning ceremony; it is her moment, after all. I do realize neither of you is in the mood for celebrations, but in this moment the whole country is looking at you and you have to look at your best. But you're a practical young man, so you certainly are aware of that. Make sure to stay close to your sister, and smile at her – so that any rumors of a conflict over the throne will be soundly put to rest."

The prince stared back at him. "You heard, didn't you?" he asked quietly.

"That your mother's brother refused to show at the capital for the funeral? Yes, I did. It caused quite a stir. That's why you need to reassure the people of Cohdopia that there will be no such conflicts – not again."

"Of course not!" the young man almost growled. "Her own _brother_, refusing to even pay his _respects_-"

"He was not her brother. They simply happened to have the same parents," Quercus cut him off, a sharp edge in his voice and not even thinking of the suspect he had had for a long time, that Durandii may have been Queen Luzula's true father. "He's undeserving of such a title. Prove yourself different. You made your sister a promise, did you not? You promised you'd help her rule. Fulfill it. Fulfill any promise you make to her, because the day you break one you may end up regretting it for the rest of your life."

Prince Delphinium stared at him in surprise, clearly taken aback by the direction the conversation had taken, but Quercus was done with him and not up for explanations he didn't owe him. "Go back to your sister's ceremony," was all he said, suddenly feeling tired, and retired to his quarters without saying another word.

* * *

><p>Quercus was in the process of packing up to return to the States when the letter came. It was from the private institution Chrysalis was into, and it was unexpected: not only they had always sent their monthly report to the embassy in the States in all the years he had been an ambassador, but it was also very early – at least two weeks earlier than the usual schedule. It did, however, only take a few moments for him to realize that it wasn't one of the usual monthly reports: it was a letter from the institution's director.<p>

Now _that_ was unusual: there had been no such communications until then. He opened the envelope, wondering if Chrysalis' habit of mocking authority figures had landed her in trouble this time, but as it turned out it wasn't the case.

The letter was filled with praise and apologies for bothering, but Quercus' eyes skimmed over all of that until he finally reached the point of the letter: Chrysalis had known he was in Cohdopia those days, and had expressed the wish to meet her tutor in person in hopes to know more about her birth family.

Her tutor. It felt odd thinking of himself as one, but he _was_ Chrysalis' legal tutor; something he seemed to often forget, since the only news he had of her were the monthly reports from the institution. He even forgot the girl even existed in the time span between reports – he didn't even know what she _looked_ like, he realized with some surprise. Now that he tried to think of her he could see with the mind's eye the child he had brought with him from Borginia, but by now she had to be… seventeen, perhaps?

Good Lord, how time flew. That child was now on her way to be a young woman – and she still knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding her father's death, Quercus realized, for he had never bothered to tell anyone in the institution and had had no contacts with her since the day he had left her there.

Quercus put the letter down next to his still half-done suitcase, a frown creasing his brow. Should he even tell her about it, about the way his father had died, about the devastation he had saved her from? He remembered, very vaguely, being somewhat envious of the fact her young age shielded her form the grief of having lost everything and everyone. Now she wanted to _know_, but Quercus wondered if she'd regret it later: sometimes, ignorance is bliss – but then again, he thought, knowledge is _power_.

"Sir?" Quercus was startled out of his thoughts by one a guards' voice. He put down the letter and looked up.

"My departure is delayed," he told him. "By a couple of days. Call my secretary at the embassy and tell him to delay all my appointments as well."

"Oh. Alright, sir. What reason do I have to give him?"

Quercus looked down at the letter again. "Tell him I owe someone a long-due visit, and a long-due tale."

* * *

><p>The institution was quite the luxurious place; no wonder, since those who attended to it were usually spawns of the wealthiest families of Cohdopia. It even had a garden that reminded him of the Rose Garden back in the embassy, and it was there that he met Chrysalis for the first time in sixteen years. She was sitting at one of the benches, as though deep in thought, but stood when he saw him entering along with the director.<p>

"I have to thank you, sir, for coming here on such a short notice," the man was saying, apparently not aware of the fact Quercus wasn't paying him the slightest attention. "We tried to tell her you're a very busy man and that you certainly had other things on your mind, especially given the circumstances, but-"

"As you can see, I had enough time," Quercus said, cutting off his incessant babbling. "But since it is not infinite, would you be as kind as leaving us alone?"

Once he babbled something and left, Quercus finally turned all his attention on Chrysalis. There was little of her father in her aside from the dark hair and eyes, and he wondered if she had taken after the Cohdopian mother they knew nothing of. She still had freckles, too, which made her look even younger than she actually was. If she felt any kind of uneasiness or nervousness, she showed none: she just looked at him, and waited.

He stepped forward. "Chrysalis," he greeted her.

"Ambassador Alba," she said, her voice quiet. She said nothing else: again, she waited for him to speak first.

Quercus' eyes lingered on her for a few moments, thinking back of the wailing child he had taken away from all she had ever known, sparing her Laurie's fate. "You've grown quite a lot since last time."

She looked back at him for a few moments, then her lips curled up into a barely repressed smile; he could see her shoulders tensing for a moment, as though she was holding back a laugh. "I should hope so, Ambassador Alba," she said. "It would be quite worrying if I hadn't."

Well, Quercus thought, there was the insolent streak he had been told about. He chuckled almost in spite of himself. "Fair enough," he said before looking around. "This is quite the lovely garden. Why don't we have a walk as we speak?"

Chrysalis nodded, and for a couple of minutes they just walked in silence. Quercus was somewhat amused to see she was not following him – she walked right by his side, and still showed none of the sign of discomfort many people, even important ones, showed in the presence of Cohdopia's most known war hero. Still, she didn't speak a word. Was she waiting for him to speak first?

So be it, he thought. He didn't have all the time of the world, after all. "I know you wanted me to tell you of the circumstances that led you here," he finally spoke, his voice quiet. "You might not like what you'll hear."

"I suspected as much. It doesn't matter. I want to know."

There was a sharp edge to her voice that didn't escape him. For a moment he scowled in annoyance – he wasn't used to be talked to like that anymore if not by one person who was now gone and would never again talk to him like that. The thought caused him to pause for a few moments, a painful twinge in his chest, and when he spoke again his voice was just as quiet as before.

"It started when Crown Prin- Queen Wilkiea and her brother fell ill, when they were very young," he said. They had reached the side of a small fountain, and as they stopped beside it Quercus noticed she was looking down at her reflection as she listened. "It was Incuritis: a rare illness, and a fatal one. Neither of the royal children had any chance without the cure – a cure only Borginia had. The Borginian cocoon is the source; but Borginia refused to let us have any, while fully knowing that meant sentencing both children to death."

"I heard of it. I know those events sparked a war," Chrysalis said, staring down at her reflection in the water.

"It did, and I was the one who led the troops – up to a certain point. Because that war was only a cover."

"A cover?" she asked, still not looking at him, staring into the water as though seeing something he could not. Quercus looked down at the fountain as well, and his own blurry reflection looked back at him.

"We would have won that war and could have taken the cocoons by force, but it would have taken too much time, and neither of the children could last that long. So we devised another plan; someone who had… recently passed away had contacts in Borginia. One of those contacts was your father. He smuggled some cocoons for us and hid them in his – your – house. It was right past the border. A small group was sent to take the cocoons; I was leading them." He paused, and waited for her to speak.

She did after a few minutes. "What went wrong?" she asked. Her voice sounded distant now. "Did he try to double-cross you? Was he a too dangerous witness to leave behind? Did you execute him?" she asked, and Quercus noticed that despite the calm exterior her hands were clenching into fists.

"No. None of us harmed him. He held his half of the bargain: we had no reason to."

"Then what happened? He died, didn't he?" she asked, this time looking up at him. Her mouth was a grim line. "You wouldn't have taken me if he hadn't!"

Quercus scowled the implications. "Of course I wouldn't have! Why on Earth should I do that?"

"Then tell me-"

"If you can _stop_ interrupting with your idiotic speculations and just _listen_, I _will_!" Quercus snapped, causing her to shut her own mouth. She glared back at him, but did not speak again. Good.

With a noticeable effort to soften his voice, Quercus resumed speaking. "Everything went just as planned up to the point we made it to your house. You and your father lived there alone; you were only one year old at the very most. He told me your mother died in childbirth. None of us knew his name," he added when she seemed about to speak again. "He gave us an alias. He gave us the cocoons, and we were ready to leave when-" he paused. "To this very day, I still do not know exactly how we were found. Perhaps someone betrayed us, perhaps someone saw us and alerted the army. Either way, before we could leave there were Borginian soldiers all around the house. They killed the men I had left outside, and began shooting on the house. It was heavy cross-fire; one of the men I brought in with me and your father were hit."

He stopped speaking again, and there were a few moments of silence. She still showed no outward emotion, aside from the stiffness in her posture. "Is that how he died?" she asked.

Quercus hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. She didn't need to know her father had spent his last few moments knowing he was about to die and fearing for her life, nor she needed to know how he had begged for him to save her in the few instants he had left. "It was instantaneous. He never knew what happened."

Chrysalis bit her lower lip. "Is that the truth?"

"I told you, we didn't harm him nor-"

"Not about that. Was it really so quick?"

A sigh. "Can't you simply settle for what you're told?" he asked somewhat tiredly. With Queen Luzula not yet cold in her grave, he didn't have the energy or will to start another debate. He felt so tired, and so _old_.

"Would you?"

Her question caught him somewhat by surprise. He thought it over for a few moments. "No," he finally said slowly, thinking back of the day he had refused to believe Colonel Consolida, how he had done everything he could to find out the truth – and how that had saved his life and that of many others, and ended a war.

"No, I wouldn't. Very well, then. No, it was not instantaneous. He lived for… I'd say he breathed for another half a minute after he was hit. He could still speak. And he asked me to save you with his last breath. I did," he finished. "Does that make you feel any better?"

She shook her head. "No. But that's beside the point."

Quercus closed his eyes, and with the mind's eye he saw, for a moment the folder he had found in Vulneraria's safe – Casus Belli. That revelation had marked him deeply, perhaps even more than his very first battle had, even more than the first and only time he had ordered bombings on civilians. But if he could go back, he wouldn't choose ignorance: it was an ugly truth, but it was the _truth_, and he had every right to know it. "No, it isn't. The point is knowing the truth. I understand."

Another silence followed, longer than the previous one. They both stared into the water, each lost in their own thoughts. "You never found out what his name was, did you?" she finally asked softly.

"No. No one knew, and it seems the Borginian authorities were at a loss as well. I tried to find out if you had any living relatives before I became your legal tutor, but without knowing his identity or that of your mother… it was all for naught. I could find no one."

"You could have left me into a Borginian orphanage."

"I wasn't about to drop into some _orphanage_ the daughter of the man who made it possible for us to save our next-" Quercus trailed off and bit his tongue; yet another reminder that he still couldn't entirely accept the thought Luzula was gone, no longer the queen of Cohdopia – Wilkiea was queen now. "We owe him the life of our ruler," he finally said; if she had thought anything of that pause, she didn't mention it. "The least I could do was making sure this country could pay that sacrifice back the only possible way – by giving you the best education it has to offer."

She nodded. "I see," she said, sounding rather thoughtful. "I supposed I should thank you, ambassador. For saving my life, giving me a name and covering all of the expenses of my support and education."

Quercus shook his head. "No. There was a debt to be paid; I loathe being in debt. We're even, you and I."

"We're not."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

Chrysalis looked up at him, straight in his eyes. "You're even with my father, whoever he was," she added. "But I still do owe you. He asked for you to save me, and you did – everything else you did for me was… how do you soldier define it?" she asked. She was looking in the water again, a faraway look in her eyes.

Quercus smiled upon being called once more what he still was deep within – a _soldier_. "Going above and beyond the call of duty, I suppose," he told her.

She nodded. "You're not the only one who loathes having debts," she stated calmly.

Quercus stared at her for a moment before nodding. "I see. In that case, you'll pay your debt once you graduate. You have less than a year left, right? I was told you're especially skilled with foreign languages."

She smile, a true and proud smile that had something ominous to it. "Yes on both accounts."

Quercus nodded. "Then I believe you could be of help in the embassy someday; there are never enough translators, apparently. Write me when your graduation is nearing," he added, turning away from the fountain and starting to walk back to the entrance. She didn't follow, but she did call out for him.

"That sounds more like I'll be getting another favor from you rather than paying you back, ambassador."

Quercus paused and turned to glance back to her above his shoulder. He stared at her for a few more moments before giving an odd smile. "We'll see about that, won't we?" was all he said before turning and walking away.

She didn't call out again, nor he looked back: for time being, they had nothing more to say.

* * *

><p><strong>Cohdopian Embassy, 2007<strong>

The return to his duties as the Cohdopian ambassador was rather hectic, for all delayed appointments had to be dealt with in quick succession. Any spare time he had was directed to the smuggling ring, and it was almost a relief: the mere fact something like that was now entirely in his hands was the most tangible sign he had left of all the power he had acquired.

He hadn't forgotten the promise he had made to Queen Luzula on her deathbed, but after all he had promised to end it by the time they could safely do without… and it wasn't the right time, he told himself, not yet. So he pushed that in the back of his mind and spent the next few months expending it – something his new contacts with the Amano Group helped a great deal with.

There were several other corporations scattered across the globe that were useful to him, of course, but the Amano Group was by far the most important addition. By the next year, Cohdopian goods were no longer the only thing to be smuggled across several countries – priceless pieces of art were what gave him most of the work now: far more difficult to smuggle, but that only made success infinitely more satisfying.

With all that in his hands it was easy for him to miss smaller things, such as occasional changes in the staff – with some people retiring and some others being hired. There were so many staff members in the embassy, and he only kept track on those he had to directly deal with; so he knew nothing of the interns, usually very young, who would work there for only a few months each.

At least until one of them was sent into his office one morning, proceeded by a phone call from the Press and Communication office: Deid Mann needed him to sign some documents he had forgotten about that morning. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir," he said, actually sounding rather abashed for the oversight.

Quercus – who some days could have sworn he spent most of his time just signing the most useless garbage ever written by man – tried to hold back a sigh. Most of the staff members seemed to think he was made of glass now: they thought he had never quite recovered from the blow Queen Luzula's death had been to him.

And for a good reason: Quercus himself had made sure they would keep thinking that. Even after he had started to feel more like himself again, a few weeks after the queen's death, he had decided to keep the act up. He had become more secluded, showed himself to be more thoughtful, spoke more slowly; he had let his beard grow to look older, had started to hunch slightly forward and had taken on limping. Not all at once, of course – it was only a slight limp for now, but he planned on making it look progressively worse in time.

It had been a sacrifice: there were moments when he wished nothing but being able to stand up straight and snap at everyone around it at the slightest mistake, and having to mostly give up on gardening outdoors had not been easy – but now that _she_ was gone, he had reasoned, now that everything was in his hands and in his hands alone, he had to be even more careful than he had been until that moment. His position granted him protection from that country's law, but he had learned over the years that one was never _too_ careful – and making sure nothing about him could possibly arise suspicion was most likely his best insurance.

Even though he was acting like one, though, being treated like a worn-out old man while he was barely sixty could be _frustrating_. "It is quite alright; signing a couple of documents shouldn't give my wrist any kind of permanent damage," Quercus said quietly. The sarcasm went well over Deid Mann's head – as usual.

"Very well, then. I'll send the new boy with the documents right away."

Quercus had no idea who the 'new boy' may be, nor he truly cared, so he simply muttered a 'fine' and hung the phone to turn his attention back to his desk, to the letter he had been reading: one of Issoria's. She had kept her promise, for no month went by without her writing him, and now that any communications he may get from the royal palace were nothing but work – for it wouldn't be Queen Luzula to write or speak on the other side of the line, not anymore – her letters were the only thing, aside from any update about the smuggling operations, that he could say he truly looked forward to.

Not because he especially cared for every detail – he did want to know how she was doing and of Daphne's good progress at university, but he could have done without news from her sons and the small army of grandchildren they were giving her – but because it was the only kind of personal communication he got. It was unnerving to think about it, and sometimes he did wonder if the smuggling ring would be all that he'd be left once she'd be gone. Because she was _old_, well over a decade older than himself, and she could be gone any moment, and he would likely be stuck _there_ when it happened, not knowing it until her monthly letter failed to reach him, and then it would be too late to even say goodbye, he would once again be _too late_ to-

A knock at the door snapped Quercus from his morbid thoughts. He quickly put the letter in the drawer and closed it before calling out for them to come in. The door opened, and a young man with sandy brown hair walked in. Well, Quercus thought, now he could see Deid Mann had been right in calling him 'the new boy', for he really _was_ just a boy. Or at least he looked like one; perhaps the nervousness plain in his expression and posture had a hand in making him seem extremely young. Perhaps he was a new intern.

"I brought some documents you need to sign, sir," he said, his voice relatively firm, and Quercus raised an eyebrow at his thickly accented Cohdopian.

"Of course," he said in English, taking the pen and gesturing for the young man to come closer. "We can speak in English if you prefer; you're not Cohdopian, are you?"

The young man put the documents on his desk and bit his lower lip before replying. "I actually am, sir. From my mother's side, at least – she's from the Babahlese region. My father is American and I was raised here, but I studied in Cohdopia as well. In the Allebahstian region," he added, as though wanting to make up for the shortcomings of being partly American and partly from the underdeveloped Babahlese region.

Quercus gave a low hum, his eyes not leaving the documents he was signing. "That explains the accent. Your Cohdopian is excellent, though," he conceded. "Are you an intern?"

"Yessir."

Quercus looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "Do not let my uniform fool you: this is not the army, young man, nor you're a soldier. You can simply say yes or no," he said, a hint of amusement showing in his voice.

The young man's fair skin flushed a little in embarrassment, but that was no surprise: older and more important men felt uncomfortable in his presence. "I'm sorry, sir. Yes, I'm an intern. I started last week."

"And you were sent straight to the lion's den," Quercus commented, and chuckled again at his nervousness. "I'm merely joking, of course. You have no reason to be nervous: this old lion has lost quite a few teeth, I'm afraid," he leant back on his seat and looked up at him. He said nothing for a few moments, just enough to see him squirming; let an aging man get some amusement, the thought. "I didn't ask for your name, did I?"

"No, sir, but it's nothing you should concern yourself about. I just-"

"What I do or do not concern myself about is not for you to concern yourself about, if you'll forgive me the rather lousy word play," he retorted, a sharp edge in his voice.

The young man recoiled. "Manny Coachen, sir," he said quickly.

"Manny Coachen. I'll keep it in mind," Quercus said with a polite nod. "My own name is Quercus Alba. Pleased to make you acquaintance."

Coachen blinked. "But, sir, I'm perfectly aware of who…" he paused when he saw Quercus' amused smirk. "Oh. I see," he gave a small, chuckle – but it was something else that caught Quercus' attention, something that made his amusement turn into sudden interest: a flash of anger in the young man's eyes, so brief that it was almost unnoticeable – but it was there, unmistakable: the anger of someone who does not appreciate being played for fool. Quercus stared at him thoughtfully for a few more moments, and this time Coachen's green eyes stared back, his jaw set in determination – he was refusing to look away. Interesting.

"My apologies for making fun of you. I'm afraid there aren't that many means for an old man who's far from his home to humour himself," he said with yet another sigh, then, "you look quite young. How old are you?"

Coachen seemed to relax just a little. "I'm nineteen, sir."

"Nineteen," Quercus repeated slowly. "Why, you're quite young, aren't you? I was about your age when I signed up for the army, a very long time ago." He looked back down at his desk and recollected the documents he had just signed. His gaze fell onto the draft of a statement he had been working onto for a while – something terribly dull regarding yet another commercial agreement. "Would you mind waiting for a moment? I'm almost done with this, so no point in calling you back in a minute," he added. That was merely an excuse to observe him for a few more minutes, but Coachen couldn't know that, and immediately nodded.

"Of course, sir."

A few more minutes ticked by. Quercus wrote the conclusion to the speech, occasionally shooting a glance up at Coachen; he hadn't offered him a seat, and the young man stood stiffly, his eyes wandering across the room to rest on a vase resting on a small table a few steps from him.

"Passionflowers."

Coachen recoiled when Quercus suddenly spoke. "I'm… sorry?"

"It's the name of the flowers you're looking at. Passionflowers. And believe it or not, they make me think of my very first battlefield," he added, putting the sheet on top of the documents he had signed. "Here you go. The statement is ready for you to… type out, I suppose. Is that what you do?" he asked. He doubted an intern like him would be trusted with anything especially important.

Manny Coachen nodded. "That's one of my duties," he said, reaching to take the papers. "Thank you, sir."

Quercus leant back on his seat again. "It must be quite boring, typing out what I wrote by hand. I'm afraid my handwriting isn't especially easy to decipher," he said, and for a moment Coachen looked all the world like he was trying to hold back a sigh.

"It's not a bother at all, sir," he said – but honestly, Quercus thought, what _else_ could he tell the ambassador?

He held back a smirk. "Really? I'm actually rather sure I heard someone complaining on how bothersome typing it all out is. It's rather terrible of me, making my own staff's life harder because of my inability to understand modern technology," he said with a mournful sigh, reaching up to stroke his beard, but he did not spare the young man a slight stab. "Although I must say this would have been easier to take care of had you mentioned it. I wouldn't be where I am now hadn't I had the guts to speak up to my superiors when the situation called for it, boy. When I was your age…" he paused, and this time it was not a calculated one. "… Good Lord. Did I actually start off a sentence with 'when I was your age'?"

Coachen's lips twitched for a moment in what was almost a smile. "It seems like you did, sir."

Oh, good – by acting like an old man he was now starting to _be_ everything like one. Quercus held back a groan and spoke again. "Oh, well. In any case, it's a problem we can solve easily by sparing some work to both of us. I want you in this office tomorrow morning at nine."

Coachen stared at him for a few moments as though he had just grown horns. "… sir?"

"You heard me, young man. And bring a… how do you call those computers you can bring along with you?"

"How do we…? Oh. Er… a laptop, sir. It's called a laptop."

Quercus dismissively waved a hand. "Yes, one of _those_. Do not be late," he said, his tone clearly saying the conversation was over. Coachen had to realize it, too, for he just mumbled a 'yes, sir' and quickly left.

Quercus smirked at the closing door in mild amusement before reaching for his bonsai trimming shears, not yet knowing that he was about to set in motion something he would someday be unable to control, that he would soon draw a young man into a game that would someday be their undoing.


	25. Apt Pupil

_A/N__: okay, first off - sorry for the long time I took to update, I have to write my thesis and that took over most of my spare time._

_Also, this will be the last update until December. Aside from being busy and all, I'll be taking part to NaNoWriMo - meaning that any free time I get will have to be focused on my NaNoWriMo project through all November. Sorry about that: I was hoping to finish this fic before November, but it turned out so much long longer than expected and I just couldn't make it. I promise I'll resume updating in December._

_Yeah, that's all. Sorry for the delay, hope this chapter will somehow make up for it._

* * *

><p>Quercus wasn't at all surprised when Manny Coached knocked on his offices door at nine on the dot: he was known for having little patience for delays – after a life in the army, punctuality was something he had come to think was owed to him – and he doubted anyone who worked in there would want to get on his bad side… let alone an intern.<p>

"Do come in," he called out, not even turning from the plant he was watering. He heard the door opening and closing before the young man spoke, almost no nervousness showing in his voice.

Almost.

He made a good actor, but Quercus was a good listener.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning. Do sit down, I'm almost done," Quercus said, turning a little to water another potted plant – one that needed a bit of a trimming, he took notice, just to get rid of any dead leaves. He heard Coachen sitting down, and let a few more minutes of silence pass, only broken by the clicking sound of his trimming shears. He glanced at the young man through his faint reflection on the window's glass as he first looked around, then at the laptop he had settled on the desk, and then began tapping a finger and glancing at his watch. Impatient – but then again, most young people were.

"Say, what part of the Babahlese region is your mother from?" Quercus asked aloud all of a sudden, and through the window's glass he could see the Coachen recoiling.

"I, uh… near the eastern border, sir. It was a small village, but to be honest the name escapes me. I've barely even been there – most of the time I spent in Cohdopia was in the capital," he said, sounding a little too eager to remark that last fact; Quercus barely contained a smirk.

"I see. Have you ever heard of a village called Langei, by any chance? Very close to the border."

"No, sir."

Quercus just nodded – he hadn't expected him to, not really – and finally set down the trimming shears. He walked back to his desk, taking care to limp noticeably enough, and sat with a sigh. "Very well, I think we can start."

Coachen looked confused. "Ah… sir, I'm afraid I don't quite understand – what is it you want me to do?"

With a shrug, Quercus gestured at the laptop on the desk. "To write down my official statements, of course. As I said yesterday, it is quite awful of me forcing you to try making any sense out of my handwriting and typing it out – so I imagine it would be quite easier for you to write down directly what I say. Was that a wrong assumption from my part?"

"Oh," Coachen muttered before quickly shaking his head. "No, sir, not at all. It is a good idea, actually. It will certainly speed things up."

Quercus smirked. "So you _do_ admit that trying to make sense out of my handwriting is time-consuming," he said, causing the young man to embarrassedly clear his throat.

"No, I… I did not mean that, sir. I just meant that, uh…" he tried, but quickly deflated when Quercus raised an eyebrow. He gave a small chuckle. "Fine. You got me, sir," he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

"Why, no need to be so abashed. I was only a few years than you are when I expressed my own… disagreement to my superior's methods quite more vehemently," he said, thinking back of the stunned expression on Colonel Consolida's face when he had put a bullet between his eyes. "Now – ready to start?"

Coachen immediately nodded, clearly relieved by the change of subject. "Of course, sir," he said, opening the laptop. He began typing – Quercus couldn't see anything of what he was doing from the other side of the desk, but he supposed he was getting that… thing ready to write.

Quercus nodded. "Very well. This one if for some American authorities, so I'll speak in English directly, if it's fine with you."

"I can translate as you go, sir," Coachen said. "There is no need for you to-"

"Is my English not good enough for your tastes?" Quercus asked abruptly, and rather enjoyed the resulting babblings.

"I… no, sir, I was just… I… didn't mean…" he sputtered, face flushing. Quercus couldn't quite blame him – he was just an intern, and surely last thing he wanted was offending the ambassador himself… one who also happened to be a famous war hero. He chuckled and raised his hand.

"I was merely joking, boy. I'm sorry I got you worried. In any case, I'd rather speak in English directly," he added, mainly because he wanted to be certain he knew exactly what to write, word from word; Cohdopian was a very different language from English, translations could be tricky and the meaning could be twisted without even the intention of doing so. "Besides having to learn English was quite a pain when I was young, so I could as well use it," he added with a half smile. Cohdopia had been a pretty secluded country for much time, only interacting with its neighbors, so it wasn't really common for Cohdopians past their thirties to be fluent in English: Quercus himself was solely because his father, as a merchant, spoke it well and had insisted for him to learn – just in case, he would say. If only he knew that skill would someday aid him in his duty as the country's ambassador, Quercus mused.

Coachen cleared his throat, and Quercus could see – again – that flash of anger in his eyes showing how little he truly appreciated being mocked. "I see, sir. Very well – I'll write anything you say, then."

There were several statements to write, but Quercus had a way to find the right words quickly – he had been thrown into politics and stayed in them for decades, after all – and Coachen was fast to type, and in not even half a hours they were done.

"My word, you're fast writing with that… _thing_ than I am writing by hand," Quercus commented, leaning back on his seat and watching as Coachen closed the laptop.

"It's merely a matter of practice, sir," the young man said. "Is there anything else you may need?"

Quercus reached up to stroke his beard. "Why, I don't want to bother you any longer, son, but…" he paused as though in thought, then, "would you be so kind to get me some maggots?"

Coachen blinked. "Get you… what?"

"Maggots, young man. Have you ever been fishing?"

"You mean… I'm sorry, sir… you want the kind of maggots that are used for fishing?"

Quercus nodded. "Yes, precisely. I have a slight appetite," he added, needing some effort to keep his face straight at Coachen's expression.

"You have…?" the young man began, then he shut his mouth and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Oh. I see. You're playing me for fool once more, aren't you, sir?" he asked with a smile – one that Quercus could tell was fake from a mile away. And the anger – yes, the anger was there again.

_Interesting_.

"Partially," Quercus said with a chuckle. "I do not intend to eat them, of course, but I was entirely serious when I asked you to get me some fishing maggots."

Manny Coachen's _almost_ raised an eyebrow. "Oh. May I ask what for, sir?"

"Up there," was all Quercus said, pointing upwards with a shrug. The young man followed his gaze to the branches of the tree outside, which had long since gotten the office through the window – something Quercus quite liked, so he had never had them cut.

For a moment he still looked just as confused as he had to feel, then there was a chirping noise coming from above, and he blinked. "A nest?" he muttered in surprise.

"Yes, a nest. They make one every year; not a surprise, considering that it's likely the safest place they could possibly find to make one. The eggs just hatched, and I figured out leaving a snack for them wouldn't hurt."

"Sir, have you, um, considered that leaving an open can of maggots in the office may not be a good idea?" Coachen asked, his voice a little slower than before.

Quercus rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete idiot yet, young man. Of course I have. I wouldn't leave more than a few on the branches each time for the birds to take."

Coachen immediately stiffened, perhaps realized he had allowed himself to be more straightforward than he should have been. "I… my apologies, sir. I did not mean to offend you. I had no intention to imply anything like that," he said, but there was something in his tone, in the stiffness of his back, that told Quercus he _had_ actually wondered if he was an idiot after all, if for just a few moments.

He eventually just waved his hand. "Why, no need to apologize. I can take worse than this. Back in my day, criticism was expressed more often than not through a bullet in the head or a knife in one's throat."

"Wha…?" Coachen began, then looked at him as though expecting him to chortle and admit he had been playing him for fool again – but Quercus did not: he stared back openly, looking perfectly serious and at ease. And why shouldn't he? He had nothing to fear. Should the boy ever report that conversation to anyone, nothing would come out of it: he could make it pass as a joke, and no one would link it to anyone's real dead; not to that of Vulneraria, much less to that of obscure Colonel Consolida so many years ago.

And even if someone suspected, nothing could be done against Cohopia's ambassador and hero. _Nothing_.

Coachen stared for a few more moments, then something in Quercus serious and unwavering gaze seemed to make him uncomfortable, and he finally looked away, clearing his throat once more before speaking.

"I, uh, should probably get going. So that I can let Mr. Mann have the statements and, well, get you the maggots," he said.

Quercus smiled, putting up a pleasant façade again. "That would be wonderful, young man," was all he said before dismissing him with a wave of his hand. When Coachen left, though, he did not get back to tend to the plants as he had planned on doing: he simply sat there for a few minutes, staring at the door and wondering _who _was it that young man reminded him of his those moments of barely concealed anger.

* * *

><p>From that moment on, the time he spent poking fun at the boy wasn't for Quercus' own amusement alone. That was a part of it, of course – he did find the young man's attempts at containing his anger amusing from time to time, as the quality acting skills that made his act so believable to anyone whose eyes were not as sharp as his own – but most of all, he was curious about the young man. He did remind him of someone, but he could not quite put his finger on what caused that sensation, nor who he reminded him of – not just yet.<p>

He was also rather interested by how carefully studied Coachen's behavior was. After the first couple of times he had been there to type out any statement he may have, he had learned how to behave around him – even when Quercus tried to confuse him with odd remarks, he would be able to tell whether he was serious or not and react accordingly. He knew when to speak up and when to listen, when he could allow himself to be less formal and when he had to as uptight as he could be. He had learned to anticipate Quercus' jabs and sometimes to return them – but never crossing the line so that he would come across as disrespectful.

The boy knew who was the one in power there, and had known immediately how much he could get away with and how to never get on his wrong side; the anger was still there from time to time, when Quercus purposely pushed too far – but he was very, very good at hiding it.

And, Quercus had to admit, he had come to look forward to their verbal sparring and mind games from time to time. It wasn't until some time later, while Quercus observed him typing with remarkable speed every word he said, that he realized what was familiar about him: he was much like he had been when he was more or less his age, after his first battle, after giving up on the idea of getting revenge for his family by fighting for his country and instead focus power. An ambitious young man with no connection nor important family to back him up, a young man who was going to have to climb up by their skills alone and who had to learn how to behave around those in power – how keep them on his side and learn from them all he could.

_Very, very much familiar._

"Sir?"

Quercus recoiled, snapped from his own thoughts, and looked up to see that Coachen was done typing what he had just finished saying and was staring at him, fingers lingering over the keyboard, waiting for him to either add something or say that the statement was fine as it was. "I think that about wraps it up. Your work here is done for today," he finally said, then, "do tell me, when does your internship ends?"

"In a couple of weeks, sir," Coachen replied, closing his laptop.

"Why, it's been three months already since when it started?"

"Two months and a half, yes. That's why it will be over in two weeks."

"I see," Quercus said, reaching up to stroke his beard as if in thought. "You must be relieved to be rid of this old man's annoying presence," he added.

"I'm not yet, as you put it, rid of you, sir," Coachen replied without missing a beat.

Quercus smirked. "And you may never be."

That seemed to take the young man aback, but only for a moment. "Are you planning on following me home, sir?" he asked with a smirk of his own.

If you want to play games, his eyes said, then bring it – I can play as well.

And Quercus could go with that.

_You're playing with the big dogs now, boy – you simply do not know it. Yet._

"Not quite, no. I'm afraid I'm not quite as stealthy as I was in my youth, back when I could easily kill a man with my bare hands without him even realizing I was there," Quercus replied with a serene smile. Coachen would have once been thrown off by such a morbid statement, but he didn't even look fazed now.

"May I then ask what you mean, sir?"

Quercus shrugged. "I was wondering if you'd like to stay, actually," he said. "You've been doing quite the outstanding job – Mr. Mann is quite enthusiastic of you as well."

The surprised expression on Manny Coachen's face was so believable that Quercus could have fallen for it hadn't he been sure he had the young man figured out – he was like him, yes, so much like him, and thus he could tell he was feeling extremely smug and self-satisfied in that moment, but not surprised.

"Thank you, sir," he said, managing to sound humble. "Does that mean I can apply for a second internship?"

Quercus barely refrained himself from scoffing.

_Don't pretend you don't get it, young man, don't pretend you don't know what you're being offered._

But he let is pass, because that was exactly how he would have behaved in his place, how he had behaved as a simple officer – play humble when he was handed what he already knew he deserved, pretend he couldn't even imagine he was about to get a promotion. "Actually, I was thinking of properly hiring you," he said, pretending he couldn't tell the young man's surprise and humbleness was nothing but a façade.

Coachen's stunned expression upon hearing that looked almost genuine.

Almost.

* * *

><p>"You called for me, ambassador?"<p>

Quercus nodded, not lifting his gaze from the letter he was almost done writing. "I did. Do come in and have a seat, young man – this will only take another minute."

He heard the door closing, and Coachen's steps approaching to the desk before he sat as he had been told. "Writing home, ambassador?" he asked. His voice sounded somewhat more upbeat than usual, and Quercus glanced up at him. His gaze was met with a flash of sunshine yellow among the gray of Coachen's suit. He raised an eyebrow. "I can't recall seeing that tie on you before, Mr. Coachen," he said, barely refraining from commenting on how hideous it was. "I'd say it's significantly brighter than your usual choices."

Coachen hummed in agreement. "Yes, I don't think there is a single member of the staff that has not yet remarked it," he said. "I woke up in bright spirits this morning, and I suppose it wouldn't hurt showing it."

Quercus allowed himself a smirk. "And I suppose the fact that Amano Group employer who comes here every week told you you'd look better with something bright on you has nothing to do with it. Nor does the fact she's supposed to be here again in a hour, am I correct? Neither has anything to do with you, as you put it, waking up in bright spirits."

The rather undignified sputtering noise that left Coachen was enough of an answer. "I just… no, I… Cece and I just… how…?"

Quercus chuckled and lowered his eyes on the letter he was writing again. "In case you've forgotten, young man, my office's window is right above the Rose Garden. And yes, I _did_ also see you picking one. While it's very romantic, I'd suggest you to buy Miss Yew one next time. Or more – that's up to you, I suppose."

"Ah," was all Coachen croaked before clearing his throat. "I'm… sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Are you referring to the rose or the tie? Because, to be honest, it's quite the eyesore. But then again, what do I know of the pains of having to work to charm a lady? I've had the rather unfair advantage of army uniforms for most of my life," he added with a chuckle before folding the letter he had been writing and sliding it into an envelope. He had recently received word from the institution Chrysalis was into: she had graduated with honors, and he was writing her to let her know he could give her a job as an interpreter at the embassy if so she wished. Of course he'd need to get through some paperwork to have her coming to the States to live and work, but it was nothing he couldn't get done in relatively little time.

To be honest, he wasn't quite sure she'd be just working for the embassy. He had been thinking for a while that she could make a valid addition to the smuggling business, being fluent in several languages and having a debt to him to pay back, but before making any decision in that sense he needed to see more of her; he thought of himself as a good judge of character, but he barely even knew her. He'd need to see her at work to make up his mind and see if it was worth giving it a try.

Quercus looked up again to see that Coachen was looking down at his tie, now apparently somewhat self-conscious about it. Curious thing, that such a bright young man hadn't apparently realized how atrocious it looked before he pointed it out. "I'm certain Miss Yew will appreciate it," he said before lifting up the letter. "Now, if I may ask, would you be as kind as to send this for me? Overnight delivery to Cohdopia."

"I, er… of course, sir," Coachen said with uncharacteristic awkwardness. "May I ask…?"

"Mr. Caprea is sick today, I'm afraid," Quercus said, barely holding back a grimace. His secretary was calling in sick more and more often, and while he could not fault him for that – old age was catching up with the man, and that was hardly anyone's fault – it was starting to hinder him. But that wouldn't be for long: Caprea had already expressed his desire to retire in a couple of months. "He's planning on retiring soon, you see. This work is starting to tire him too much; he deserves to save his health for a good retirement, after all."

Coachen's expression changed for only a moment before turning back into a polite mask, but it was enough to Quercus to know what the young man's mind – so very similar to his own – was on to: for someone who wouldn't hesitate to wear such a ridiculous article of clothing to impress a woman he was certainly quite the calculating individual, Quercus thought. The contrast was almost amusing.

"Oh, I'm sorry to know that," Coachen was saying, but Quercus knew better; had he not feigned being sorry for a direct superior's departure in his youth, while inwardly rejoicing for the chance at a quick promotion to fill the hole that was left? And no matter how much of a good actor the young man was, Quercus could recognize ambition – how could he not, when he saw it in the mirror every morning? – and could tell that the boy was hoping to take Caprea's place as his secretary.

Quite bold, yes, and maybe too confident, but then again hadn't he been as well when he had promised himself he'd climb up to the highest ranks thanks to his skills alone? He had had chances to prove himself, and had seized each and every of them so that he could make it to the top.

So let the boy have his, he thought, see how capable he truly was, how worthy of making it to the top.

Let him _try_.

* * *

><p>"It is quite the office you've got here."<p>

Quercus let out a slight snort, his eyes still fixed on the plant he was tending to; it was starting to grow tall, and needed a stick for support. "Last time I checked, that was no acceptable substitute for 'good morning'," he pointed out before turning to the door, which Chrysalis was just now closing behind herself.

"My apologies, sir," she said, though the half-smile on her lips was more than enough for him to tell she was more amused than anything. "Good morning. It's quite the office you've got here. Is there a reason why you're trying to turn it into a jungle?"

Quercus shrugged. "I simply enjoy tending to some plants. My work can be rather tedious, I'm afraid."

"Tending to plants doesn't scream 'excitement' to me," she pointed out, reaching to lightly touch flower's petal from a pot on Quercus' desk.

"I'd say this old man has had enough excitement for a lifetime. Wouldn't you?" Quercus replied, keeping an eye on the flowers she was touching. "Be careful with those. They're quite delicate."

She shrugged, brushing her dark hair behind her ear somewhat absentmindedly. "I think there's no such thing as 'too much excitement' in a lifetime, but maybe it's because I had very little of it. Passionflowers?"

"Passionflowers, yes," Quercus said, looking at her thoughtfully. If it was excitement she was after, he could think of the kind of work that would provide her plenty – if she proved herself to be as skilled as she had been said to be, of course. "I have several more seeds, if you wish to grow some. They make good office decoration – given of course that you are interested in the work I have offered you."

"If I was not, ambassador, I wouldn't have come and made you waste money on a plane ticket," she replied.

"Oh, that," Quercus said with a small shrug – it hadn't even been him to pay for it anyway. "Do not mention it. It was a long flight; I hope you're not too tired."

Her shoulders shook for a moment before she laughed. It was a rather loud laugh and it was clear it would have been a long one hadn't she been quick to refrain herself, if with some effort. Quercus had just enough time to think back of the child who had giggled in his face when he had tried to rebuke her so many years ago, then she spoke again. "Traveling in first class is hardly tiring," she pointed out, and let out another snicker before turning serious once again. "Thank you for your offer. I still am in your debt."

"If you're skilled as your school says, I'm certain this will benefic both of us," he said, not yet dwelling into what kind of help he could give him in the future, nor in what business. "It never hurts having some more people here who are fluent in several languages. Which ones do you speak again?"

"Aside from Cohdopia and English? Borginian, Reijamese, Chinese, French, German, Arabian, Russian," she recited, sounding almost bored. "I do like learning new languages. One of the reasons why I accepted your proposal immediately was that it would give me a chance to travel and make use of them."

Quercus nodded. "You will get to travel, yes. It isn't uncommon for us to meet other countries' ambassadors on neutral grounds, and interpreters are always needed," he added. Having her as his interpreter was a way to keep a close eye on her, much like being his secretary kept Manny Coachen always close to him; the perfect way to see, truly see, if they had all that it took to be introduced to the smuggling ring. With Coachen, he was almost completely convinced he would make a valid addition: he was clever, as ambitious and Quercus himself and had everything to gain and nothing to lose by being loyal to him – much like he once had everything to gain by being loyal to Queen Luzula. Chrysalis seemed to show as much promise as the young man and had as much of a reason to be loyal to him – who else did he have to grant her what he could grant? – but he had yet to know her as well as he had grown to known Coachen. Time would tell, he supposed.

A light knock to the door caused both him and Chrysalis to turn. "Do come in," Quercus called out, and the next moment the door opened and Manny Coachen stepped in with a folder under his arm. Quercus could tell it was from the Amano Group before even noticing the acronym printed on it – Coachen's half-smile was more than enough for him to guess that Cece Yew had once again been sent to deliver the documents from Mr. Amano; Quercus was starting to suspect she volunteered to do that every week in place of other employers, and it wasn't too hard to see the reason why in the young man standing before him.

Coachen's faraway expression, however, faded when he saw Quercus was not alone in the room. "Oh, my apologies. I didn't realize you were-" he started, but Quercus cut him off with a gesture of his hand.

"It is quite alright, I was about to call for you. Leave the folder here. Chrysalis, this is my secretary, Mr. Coachen. Mr. Coachen, my protégée. She's our new translator and interpreter – the one I told you about. Would you mind escorting her to Mr. Mann's office so that he can start showing her around?"

Coachen immediately nodded. "Of course, sir," he said, but the smile he gave to Chrysalis had something forced to it, he immediately knew why: the young man felt that his position may be threatened.

An interesting development, Quercus thought as they left, and perhaps an useful one. After all, he had to find out just how far Coachen would be willing to go to _stay_ on top – and that could be just the right input.


	26. Corruption

_A/N: here's another chapter. Sorry for the delay, December turned out to be about as busy as last month. I hope I'll be able to keep updates regular from now on._

* * *

><p>It took Quercus no more than a few weeks to realize that the input had perhaps worked even <em>too<em> well with Coachen.

It certainly had helped that Chrysalis had proved herself to be, very skilled. Not only she was fluent in several languages, but she had proved herself to be clever and a fast learner; it had not taken her much to become a valid element, and Dead Mann praised her just as much as he had previously praised Coachen… something that Coachen himself was clearly worried about. He had seen her as a threat from the start, that much Quercus could tell right away, and the fact she was so skilled made him even more determinated to shine in order to keep his position. Even though he could not know the reason why, he had to have guessed that Quercus was observing both of them… and comparing them.

The result was a rather one-sided rivalry, for Chrysalis didn't seem to care much of what Coachen thought and had showed no signs of being interested in his position – if anything, she seemed to be amused by how hard Coachen kept working in the attempt of outstanding her. If rumors were to be believed, she had laughed openly at him once saying he was one amusing show-off… and if it turned out to be true, Quercus couldn't say he would have been surprised in the slightest.

And indeed, Coachen was now working harder and better than he did even before. Considering that he already was a hard-working man, that meant that Quercus sometimes found himself having trouble to catch up with him: he would barely have enough time to get an appointment booked before Coachen was planning things out down to the finest details. Not to mention that there had been one occasion when he had barely had the time to _mention_ the need of an official statement, and the instant he had raised his eyes from the desk he had been startled to see Coachen had already opened his laptop – where had he even pulled him out of? – and was staring at him in wait.

All in all, his eagerness to please seemed to have turned into something closer to desperation, and while it was a good sign as far as Quercus was concerned since it would likely mean he'd be more than willing to get involved with the smuggling ring if it mean securing himself a position of power… well, sometimes he could get overbearing. In the end, the last straw that made Quercus decide to act was the fact Coachen was seriously trying to plan out his days for him to 'increase effectiveness' with minute-by-minute schedules. Bathroom breaks included. Which was _a little_ more than he was willing to bear, especially from someone who could very well be his grandson.

"Coachen."

The plain exasperation in Quercus' voice was enough to make the young man finally look up from his notes and look back at him. "Sir?"

"Let me tell you a few things, my boy. I'm used to taking orders. I took orders from officials for a long time back when I was a soldier. Orders I could not refuse. I took orders from late Queen Luzula later – without chance for refusal, though I'll admit I gave her no small amount of grief over one order or two. Now I take orders from Queen Wilkiea – again, orders that I cannot refuse, unless I resign from my position as the Cohdopian ambassador in the States. Thankfully, though, any other order I can refuse. Including yours."

Coachen stared at him for a few moments, then blinked once. "…sir?"

Quercus sighed. "I'm not going to let you tell me when I can or cannot go to the bathroom," he said pointedly. "While I _do_ appreciate your zeal, don't you think you're going just _slightly_ overboard with this?"

"Oh," Coachen muttered, looking back down at his notes and then clearing his throat. "Well, I… my apologies, sir. It was not my intention to, as you put it, give orders. I was simply thinking we could-"

"I know what you were thinking, Coachen," Quercus said, much more sharply than usual. His tone caused Coachen to glance up at him, looking slightly puzzled as well as somewhat worried.

"Sir?"

A cold smile. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"Worried? I… no, of course not. Everything is fine, so I don't see what I should worry abo-"

"Chrysalis."

The mere mention of her name was enough to make Coachen shut his mouth so abruptly that his teeth clicked together. Quercus smiled up at him as he stared back with the wide-eyed gaze of a deer caught in the headlights for just one moment before regaining his composure.

"Sir, I'm not sure what you me-"

"You know it very well, Coachen," Quercus cut him off with a wave of his hand before leaning back on his seat. "You're not working thrice as hard as before just because, are you now? You want to prove yourself the best. And you're doing so because you feel threatened," he paused and gave him another cold smile. "Afraid my protégée will end up getting you out of the spotlight, aren't you? You fear the brilliant future you already see ahead of yourself could be tarnished if she proved herself to be – how should I put it? More _valuable_ than you are," he said. Another chuckle, and he reached up to stroke his beard. "I'd advise you not to lie to me, young man. I'm far, far more experienced than you are when it comes to lies – and it takes one liar to figure out. Has no one ever told you that?"

Coachen worked his jaw for a few moments before speaking slowly, as though thinking he was threading on thin ice. "I haven't lied to you, sir. I simply said I'm not worried and that everything is fine."

"Except that you _do_ feel threatened, which is the reason why you're working far more than you're supposed to. Isn't that so?"

A pause. "Yes," Coachen finally said, his voice flat. Not a surprise: he knew better than keeping on lying when Quercus had so clearly guessed what was going through his mind. "I suppose you could say she's one of the reasons."

"Are there other reasons?"

"I don't think I need any more reasons doing the best work possible," was the polite, but firm reply.

Quercus couldn't hold back a laugh. "Yes, your own ambition is a really good reason, is it not? Chrysalis' presence is nothing but an _incentive_, so to speak. All the more reason to make sure the spotlight stays on you. You're one ambitious young man, aren't you? Oh, no need to stiffen up," he added with a wave of his hand when Coachen visibly stiffened at the statement. "It's not an insult, boy. I've seen ambition every morning in the mirror for more years than you've been alive. Do you think I'd be here if I was not ambitious? Do you think I would have climbed up through all tanks of the army, from a nobody marching in the mud to Cohdopia's High General? _Do you_?"

Those last words came out more as a growl than as a spoken sentence, but to his credit Coachen barely even flinched, and Quercus went on with a calmer voice. "There are people who see ambition and pride as something shameful. I'm not among them. I think… yes, I think ambition is what saved my life. I may have not survived through a lifetime in the army without the determination to make it to the top to keep me going. I had more than one close encounter with death, and each time I survived it out of sheer willpower. Because I knew I was meant for more than _that_, and refused to die without achieving _more_," he almost growled the last word, then smiled – again. "I have been thinking this for a long time, boy. We're the same, you and I."

Coached licked his dry lips before speaking. He had to have guessed something was up by now, and he was certainly nervous, certainly wondering what the right steps would be from that moment on.

"Are we, sir? I must say being compared to Cohdopia's most notorious war hero is flattering to say the least," he finally said, his voice almost perfectly calm. But there was something underneath that did not escape Quercus – the excitement of someone who thinks they're on to something big.

And, Quercus thought, he was not going to be disappointed in the slightest: he was on to something big alright – he was on to his great occasion.

"I'm not flattering you, young man; to be honest, I don't think you'd be good soldier material. But we still are similar – we both have skills and are ambitious. People like me and you, my boy, have the drive and will to achieve anything, given the right opportunities. I had to seize any opportunity that came my way, as you did when you applied for an internship here, I am sure. And then, Quee-" a pause, a sharp intake of breath, then he kept speaking, his voice softer. "Someone important handed me the occasion of my life on a silver platter. I had to endure many hardships before then, so of course I was more than ready to seize it. I was older than you are now, of course, and you have seen _none_ of the hardships I already had to face by the time I was your age… but I think you'd be just as quick as I was myself to seize the opportunity of your life if you were presented with it. Wouldn't you?" he added, his voice quiet.

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, straight in the eyes. Coachen's expression revealed next to nothing, but the way he clenched his jaw from time to time was more enough for Quercus to tell he was thinking quickly, trying to figure out what was it he was going to offer him – because he certainly had guessed he was not speaking by hypothesis, that he did have something in store for him to accept and refuse… and had likely guessed that, if he wanted to keep or even advance his current position, refusing was not an option.

When Coachen spoke again, his voice was quiet and firm. "May I ask what you're referring to, sir?" he asked. So he had grasped exactly how serious Quercus was being. Good. Quercus chuckled and reached in his pocket for a small golden key. He unlocked the right drawer of his desk and opened it with one hand, gesturing for Coachen to sit with the other. The young man sat across the desk, and Quercus handed him the drawer's content – a small pile of papers.

"I'd like you to read them," he said. "You're a bright young man, so I'm certain no further clarification will be needed."

Coachen shot him one last glance before he took the papers and began going through them, his forehead crunched in concentration. Quercus leant back on his seat once more and folded his hands on the desk, his eyes never leaving the young man's face as he kept reading. In a matter of a few minutes he could see Coachen's focus breaking, eyes widening in bewilderment as the realization of what that was all about.

Coachen tore his gaze from the paper he had been reading and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Sir, is this…?"

"Keep reading," Quercus just replied, still staring intently, and after only a moment's hesitation Coachen turned his attention back to the papers.

Quercus kept watching carefully as his surprise turned into deep, almost avid interest, and smirked to himself. Of course, he had been expecting Coachen to be very interested in that particular side business of his, but he didn't ignore the fact a small possibility he would not want to be involved… and it would have been a shame, for he was such a promising young man and it would have been a pity if he were to have an _accident_ before he could speak about the matter with anyone.

But, as he had expected, there was going to be no need for such an unfortunate thing to happen. The boy had seen the occasion, and was going to seize it; wasn't it what he would have done in his place, after all?

We're the same, you and I.

The self-satisfied smirk had barely faded from Quercus' face when Coachen finally finished reading and looked back up at him, setting the papers down on the desk.

"You have quite the side business going on, sir," he finally said. His voice was calm and his composure relaxed, but he could not hide the almost hungry look that crossed his features for an instant as he briefly looked down at the documents again. Oh, he was interested, and how. Quercus saw no reason to beat it around the bush.

"You could say so, yes."

"May I… ask why, sir?"

"Why?" Quercus repeated, for a moment genuinely confused.

Coachen gestured to the papers on the desk. "You hardly need any of this, sir. You're a war hero and our ambassador, so you're not lacking fortune nor fame. You… you have everything, sir," he added, sounding genuinely curious, as though he truly couldn't understand why a man like him would even go through the trouble of running a smuggling ring.

Quercus stared at him thoughtfully, pondering what his reply should be. He cold tell him, of course, of the origins of the smuggling operations – of how a corrupt general had started it, how Queen Luzula herself had trusted him with the task of keeping it up as their 'insurance', how she had asked him to keep it up as long as it was necessary and then end it – but that wouldn't truly be the answer. Because he now knew and could admit to himself that even if the smuggling ring was no longer truly needed he would still keep it up. And the reason why, the only reason he could rationally think of, was one he was not willing to share.

Because when you're trapped into a role you hate, the power you get from it is all you can get pleasure from.

"This is classified information," he finally heard himself saying slowly. "I'm afraid I cannot reveal that just yet. Though, I'll admit, it is an amusing pastime; I have told you I easily I get bored here, have I not?" he added with a chuckle, folding his hands. "But, amusing as it may be, it can also be tiresome to control everything on my own, even the minor setbacks. I could use another pair of hands. Possibly attached to someone clever enough to handle such matters, and wise enough to keep quiet about them. It is an amusing game, Coachen, but a demanding one nonetheless… and one that needs clear answers," he added, staring up at the young man. He kept silent for a few more moments before speaking again.

"Are you in, Coachen? Or are you not?" he asked, his voice lower and dangerous. He needed an answer, no matter how obvious he thought it would be, and he needed to have it right away.

Coachen tensed for a few moments. He knew – he _had_ to know – that he could not answer with a 'no' without dire consequences; but then again, why should he? He had just been offered an occasion he wasn't likely to get again, one that would allow him to become rich in a short time and keep him in the ambassador's favor. And, Quercus was sure, Coachen was already thinking of how such a secure position would aid his future career. Provided, of course, that he wouldn't mess up.

In the end, Coachen's tenseness vanished, his stiff frame relaxing. He was still slightly pale, maybe somewhat overwhelmed, but his lips curled up into an unmistakable smirk – that of the ambitious youngster who sees the chance of a lifetime served on a silver platter. And his reply was precisely what Quercus had expected to hear.

"You can count of me, sir," he said, and Quercus smiled back, not knowing he had just set in motion a chain of events that would ultimately lead to Coachen's death and his own demise.

* * *

><p>Manny Coachen soon proved himself to be a valid addition to the smuggling business. Oh, of course Quercus would monitor everything he did – he would let nothing happen in the ring without his knowledge and approval – but the young man had proved himself both competent and resourceful, and in a couple of occasions he had had some excellent ideas to work around a few bothersome set-ups.<p>

Let the boy gain some more experience, Quercus thought, and he would be ready to handle more responsibility without need of constant control from his part. While that didn't mean he was planning on lowering his guard _too_ much – and army man never truly does – he was confident enough he would not try anything. Coachen was a clever man, and he knew better than trying to fool him; he had far more to gain working for him than against him… just like Quercus himself had had so much more to gain staying loyal to Queen Luzula rather than letting High General Vulneraria lure him to his side.

With that matter settled, Quercus began turning most of his attention to the other potential addition to the ring, the one he had had less time to know so far – Chrysalis.

In the few months she had worked at the embassy, Quercus had convinced himself that someone like her – skilled, clever, with a vast knowledge of foreign languages and a debt to him she had yet to pay back – would make a good addition to the smuggling ring. But he still did not know two things: if he could truly trust her to that point, and what role she would fit best in the ring. He had several agents in law enforcements around the globe, in courts of law, in airports and harbors where the smuggled goods were delivered and so forth… but he could not yet figure out which role she may fit best into.

The occasion to put Chrysalis to a test was sudden as it was unexpected, and the person to provide it happened to be the head of a corporation that was turning out to be one of the ring's best assets – Ernest Amano. Quercus had never met the man in person, for he'd keep himself as distanced as possible from any of his connections in order to look as clean as possible should they be uncovered – and even that was an exception, since most of said connections had _no idea_ what the identity of the ringleader truly was – but he had to wonder if he was annoying in person as he was by phone.

"To be quite honest, Mr. Amano, I cannot see why you'd need my help for this," Quercus said. His voice was calm and somewhat meek; he tried to keep up the act with most people by now, even to the people he had _business_ with, to the point that he could safely say that Coachen was the only one to know it was a farce, having witnessed his moments of seriousness and even a few bursts of temper. To all the others, he was an aging army man walked with increased difficulty, spoke with an almost mournful note in his voice, and was overly harsh on himself over any minor setback in the embassy.

Keeping up that mask no longer bothered him as it had before. What did it matter what those fools thought of him? What did it matter if they thought of him as an old man, a mere shadow of his former self? He knew it was not so, and their ignorance only worked for him. Durandii had been right all those years before: what Quercus used to think of as degrading and disgraceful was actually so very, very useful.

_Let them think you're weak, let them think you're old, let them think you're a fool – the last laugh will be yours, because you'll know you fooled everybody._

Clearly unaware of Quercus' musings, Ernest Amano gave a small laugh and kept speaking. "Oh, I could see it to myself, of course, but I don't think I have the right man at hand right now. You, on the other hand, certainly have plenty, my friend. All I ask of you is to lend me one for a bit."

Quercus made a face, trying to keep himself from snapping at the man that he was most certainly _not_ his friend. Of course he had expected Amano could end up asking for something in exchange of his corporation's cooperation with the smuggling ring – not that he didn't get a good income from it already, of course – but he still did not expect such a request, nor appreciate the idea of having to take anyone off their duties in the smuggling ring to let Amano use them for some petty corporate espionage into a rival company. Especially since it had absolutely nothing to do with the smuggling ring, and thus it was nothing he'd benefit from in any way.

Still, annoyance aside, he had no real reason to say no. Amano was a good ally all things considered, so perhaps he could just grand him that one request… and remind him of the help he received should he someday need a favor in exchange, of course. But what element could he _lend_ to Amano to carry on his little spy game with rival companies without hindering the effectiveness of the smuggling operations…?

Chrysalis.

The thought hit him suddenly, causing him to blink at first and then to smile to himself. But of course! That was the perfect solution, one that would allow him to satisfy Amano's request without hindering the ring and putting Chrysalis to a test without having to tell her about the smuggling ring to begin with. If she did well, he'd know she truly was a good element, one to be trusted, and would make her the offer; if she failed and was caught, it would be the Amano Group to take the fall – for he would play the part of the old fool who had let a company make use of his interpreter in absolute good faith.

It was the perfect solution, just perfect. Quercus forced himself to stop smirking and spoke thoughtfully. "I suppose I could do that, yes. Let me think…" he said, pausing for a few moments as though in thought, then, "yes, I think I have just the right person to help you out."

From the other side of the line, Amano chuckled in delight. "Oh, I knew I could count on you, my friend. And I knew you'd have the right man for the job."

Quercus chuckled. "It doesn't have to be a _man_, does it?"

"Oh," Amano said, sounding rather perplexed, then, "_oh_. I see."

There was something in his sly tone that grated on Quercus' nerves. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice somewhat sharper than he usually allowed it to sound.

"No, no, not at all! Actually, I think it would work best. The company's CEO is known for being a ladies man, after all, and feminine wiles may just make things easier for-"

Quercus wasn't going to even let him finish that sentence. "I do not think we're _quite_ on the same page, Mr. Amano," he said coldly, causing the other man to trail off. When he spoke again, he sounded confused.

"What?"

"What matters to you is that the mole gains the information you need, is it not?"

"Well, yes…"

"Then you will let her do it her way, _whatever_ it may be. If I find out you gave _suggestions_ of any kind of how to gain access to the information, like the one you seemed to imply a minute ago, the deal is off. I'll call her back, and your little spy game will stay yours. Have I made myself clear?" he asked, his voice still cold.

Later on, Quercus would not quite be able to put his finger of what had precisely annoyed him about Amano's immediate assumption; he was no shrinking violet himself, and he cared little of _how_ his underlings obtained what he asked of them as long as they _did_ obtain it. Perhaps it was a mixture of the distant memory of the small child she had compared to his own sister, of disgust at the other man's mentality – he had lived most of his life in a country whose royalty followed a matriarchal line of succession, after all, and pretty much all the most powerful presence in his life had been women – and the fact he needed Chrysalis to take on the mission her own way in order to be able to evaluate her skills.

He had no interest in seeing whether or not Chrysalis could use _wiles_ to get a job done – he wanted to know if she could prove himself both trustworthy and competent, and see how she'd operate on her own. That was what would count in any role she'd be assigned in the smuggling ring, if she succeeded first and accepted the offer later. Much like charisma, wiles could be useful – but useless with nothing behind it. It could be a good mask, a skin of some kind, perhaps… but skin does not stand without bones, muscles and organs beneath it, and nothing works without a brain to give directions. Wiles alone would be useless.

"I… of course. It' clear," Amano was saying. "Of course I didn't mean anything by it, I simply assumed-"

"Never mind," Quercus cut him off. He had no more time to waste on that idiot. "We have the matter settled, and that's the important part. Give me a couple of days, and you'll have your mole."

He hung the phone without giving Amano any time to reply, and reached for the interphone.

It was time to have a talk with Chrysalis.

* * *

><p>"So you're asking me to aid the Amano Group into corporate espionage. Is that so, Ambassador?"<p>

Straight to the point as always, Quercus thought. Not that he was surprised: Chrysalis wasn't one for nonsense, unless she found something especially amusing. But she didn't seem amused by what he had told her: she had listened in silence, gaze focused on his and no change of expression. No surprise, no worry, no indignation, nothing: she just listened.

He nodded. "Yes. The reason why is not something I can reveal just yet, I'm afraid, but I'm confident I'll be able to reveal you more if you get what Amano wants. You are not obliged to do this, of course. You can think about it until tomo-"

"I'm in."

Quercus trailed off and gawked at her for a few moments, taken aback. "You… are?" he asked. Certainly he had misheard, she couldn't have made up her mind that quickly… or could she?

Chrysalis smiled. It was not one of the half-smiles that would often play on her lips – it was the kind of smile that's one step away from turning into a laugh. "Sure. Why not? I'm sure it will be exciting," she said, a mirthful glint in her eyes telling him that she meant what she had just said, she truly did.

All of a sudden, Quercus got the distinct feeling that convincing her to join the ring should she prove herself to be a valid element was going to be a far easier task than he had expected.


	27. Cece Yew

_A/N: sorry this update took a while, Christmas got in the way. That, and family celebrations. I have yet to find a way to escape those. _:P

* * *

><p>There were some days – not many, but a few – when Quercus would hate everything he had become.<p>

Not because he had suddenly grown back a conscience, of course, but because during especially slow afternoons, when he was done watering his plants and there was absolutely nothing else for him to do but idly sitting at his desk, he'd feel like he had turned exactly into the kind of bureaucrat he had so sneered at in his youth. Which, in turn, would cause him to hate everything and everyone inside that gilded cage he had somehow gotten himself into.

And, to add insult to injury, he _could not show it_. The feeble façade he had made for himself in time, the meek attitude and the face limp he was progressively making worse and worse, had proved to be both an insurance against any suspect and the most infuriating cage. He could not lash out without blowing his cover, could not snap, had to hold his tongue more often than not; and every time he blamed himself for anything that went wrong, minor as it may be, he wished more than anything he could bark orders and punish whoever was responsible as he would have back in the army, as a soldier among soldiers.

The only person in the embassy he could take his anger onto was the one who had already seen past that façade: Coachen. But his secretary had long since learned how easily his temper could flare up when in such a bleak mood, and would keep himself away as much as his duties allowed him. Of course Quercus could find any excuse to call him into his office and snap at him for whatever reason, but doing so purposely to lash out on _someone_ would have been too juvenile, tempting as it may be.

Then again, he did not react to such thoughts with anger. Sometimes he would think back of his years in the army; it had been many years, and he certainly had quite a few memories to think back to. He would look especially thoughtful in those occasions, and Coachen had learned not to snap him out of his thoughts, unless he wanted that pensiveness to turn into frustration and anger.

Sometimes, though, it would be Quercus to speak.

"You know, I had seen several battles by the time I was your age."

Coachen glanced up the documents he had been handing him with a cocked eyebrow. "Sir?"

Quercus shrugged, reaching to take the papers from his secretary's hands. "I'm simply musing on how different your youth is from mine. Perhaps it wouldn't have been hadn't I had to interrupt my studies," he said, then, "you should feel lucky. Living in peacetime is not something everyone is granted. When I joined the army…" he paused, then shook his head. "Ah, well. No use in dwelling in that. I didn't have much of a choice."

Coachen, on the other hand, seemed curious; a reminder than no matter what, he still was very young. "I've heard a lot of rumors about your career in the army, sir," he said. "Especially regarding the fact you started out as, well… it may be different know, but as far as I know back then it was very much uncommon for anyone but nobles making it to the highest ranks."

Quercus scoffed a little. "It was more than uncommon, young man. It was unheard of until I made it. And believe me," he added with a smirk, "most of the High Command was not especially glad to have a commoner among them. Especially not one whose loyalty lay with Queen Luzula. Those were… difficult times for Cohdopia."

"This isn't precisely an easy time either," Coachen commented, his eyes drawn to the symbol of Cohdopia, the butterfly and the flower, painted on the wall. Quercus looked up, and noticed he seemed worried.

"Are you referring to the recent social unrest in the Babahlese region?" he asked. Not many news of the current situation made it to the embassy though official means – after all, as the Cohdopian ambassador to United States he hardly had any use for that information – but he had other means, and Issoria's letters.

The situation didn't yet seem especially bad yet, but it was rather alarming to anyone who was more than a casual observer. The people in Babahl kept making demands for a more equal representation. It was no mystery that the region, less advanced than Allebahstian one, was mostly kept in a subordinate position so that most of his inhabitants would work in the mines; nothing kept especially determinated people from that region to become someone important, of course… but it was, as a matter of fact, far more difficult that for anyone from Allebahst.

One reason to worry, though, was that one of those guiding the protests was the late queen's estranged brother – Prince Senecio. Quercus had never truly met him, but he instinctively distrusted him. Now he showed himself as the most dedicated leader of the protest against the Allebahstian region's dominance, but Quercus had no doubt he cared little for the people of the Babahlese region: he was probably trying to gain some personal power after losing any he may have had by storming away from the capital once his claim on the throne had been denied.

Either way, they simply could not have that man fueling the social unrest in Babahl; Quercus had written as much to Queen Wilkiea, and to Prince Delphinium as well for good measure. He had received a polite reply, of course, on how they were planning on taking steps for a better distribution of power in the two regions of the country. And while it certainly was a good sign – Queen Luzula herself had given in to some requests right after the civil war to soothe the civil unrest, and now it was probably the right time to start bringing those reform to their end so that the Babahlese region could truly be equal to the Allebahstian one – Quercus couldn't help but fear it may turn out to be too little.

The royal family's intentions were good, perhaps, but centuries of inequality in all sectors – from education to economy, from infrastructures to political representation – could not be fixed so in a short time… and with Prince Senecio to make matters worse, time before a breaking point may turn out to be less than it looked now. Quercus had no doubt that, had Queen Luzula lived, she would have done what was best for the country and have arranged an _accident_ for her brother before the breaking point could be reached. She probably wouldn't have liked it, but she was used to putting Cohdopia's sake above all else; a second civil war, after all, would have only stalled any attempt at a reform, caused numerous victims and put the whole country into great financial strain.

But Queen Wilkiea was different, too soft-hearted to order the death of that uncle she had never even met. And even her brother and advisor, the more practical Prince Delphinium, hesitated to use force against him.

"We still hope diplomacy will allow us to find an opening so that no bloodshed is needed," he had written him mere days earlier. "We will not hesitate if we feel the country's safety truly is at risk, for shedding a man's blood is still preferable to bloodshed on a much larger scale; of that, Ambassador, we're very much aware. But thus far there seems to be little chance of something drastic happening in the immediate future; in these circumstances, neither I nor Her Highness see the necessity to act in that sense. We fear that an accident, as you call it, might actually be seen through with the result of sparking what we're set to avoid instead."

That was true, Quercus knew it: assassinating Senecio, someone who was gaining prestige among the protesters – who better than the prince in self-imposed exile to represent the rebellion against the royal family's rule? – could backfire. Perhaps Prince Delphinium was right, and acting too rashly when the chances of another civil war seemed to slim would be a mistake. Perhaps waiting truly was for the best.

Still, he could not shake off a bad feeling.

"Yes, sir."

Coachen's voice, answering to his own question, snapped Quercus from his thoughts. He recoiled and cleared his throat. "I see. You do look rather nervous. I suppose you're mother is still in Babahl," he added quietly.

"Yes. There seems to have been some… protest near her hometown," he said uneasily. "Things seem to be quiet now, but… she was worried for a while."

Quercus nodded. "I can imagine. Do tell me, Coachen – what do you think of the current situation?" he asked, leaning back on his seat.

There was a moment's hesitation before Coachen spoke. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"We're not in the army last time I checked, young man. Do speak your mind."

Coachen nodded. "Very well. I think the government in Allebahst has kept the people from the Babahlese region in disadvantage for far too long. We- they had to occupy the lowest places in the social scale for far too long. It may have worked as long as most didn't know better and just worked in the mines for you, but now things are changing. Young people from Babahl have studied in Allebahstian universities, and they know now that they can strive for more. And they will. If reforms don't come quickly, sir, I fear the civil unrest may become even worse."

Coachen had spoken quickly, without pauses, and it hadn't escaped Quercus how he had said 'we' before quickly correcting himself.

He nodded. "I see. You do have a point," he said, thinking back of something he remembered Issoria writing him about – Daphne's growing dissatisfaction with that unbalance. She was completing her medicine studies in Allebahst, and thus was one of the young Babahlese people who had seen exactly the inequality between the two regions. And was not appreciating it, apparently; Quercus could only hope she wouldn't do anything stupid. "I know for a fact the royal family is working on reforms as we speak. Of course, so many years of inequality cannot be erased in a short time… but unless something drastic happens, I don't think a civil war will be the outcome," he finally said.

"I see. That's good to know," Coachen said, relief clear in his voice.

"Regardless," Quercus went on, his gaze back on a few documents, "should anything happen, do tell your family to come in the States. I can grant them hospitality in the embassy to those without the necessary permissions," he added.

For a moment Coachen seemed surprised, then he quickly nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said, sounding rather relieved. He seemed about to add something else, but he suddenly seemed to be reminded of something. "Oh, I almost forgot…"

Quercus glanced up at him. Coachen was opening the small folder he always brought with him, and pulled out a still sealed envelope. "Cece- er, Ms. Yew gave me this. It's from Mr. Amano," he said.

With a nod, Quercus took it and opened it.

He wasn't too surprise to see it contained Amano's thanks for the excellent work Chrysalis had done with his little corporate espionage business. She had been able to infiltrate the company just fine, had quickly gathered the information they needed and had been able to put a virus in the company's network system that would allow the Amano Group access any moment. That last part was entirely lost to Quercus – the only kind of virus he knew of was the kind that makes one sick, and he had no idea in hell what it could have to do with computers – but what mattered was that Chrysalis had proved herself to be competent, professional, and capable of secrecy.

With a smirk, Quercus finished reading and put down the letter. That seemed to settle it: Chrysalis was going to make a fine addiction to the smuggling ring. She certainly was skilled for espionage and inside jobs, so now it was only a matter of choosing where he could exactly place her.

In the end, though, he wouldn't have to choose: the perfect occasion to make use of her would almost fall on his lap, because not even a month later the Amano Goup would need their help to come out of a scandal, caused by one of their employees finding evidence of their dealings with a smuggling ring. One employee and witness who'd become a threat to both the Amano Group and the smuggling ring, and who would need to be eliminated.

Cece Yew.

* * *

><p>The first sign that something was very, very wrong was the fact Ernest Amano called in the early morning from a number that did not match the usual one: Amano had never called before noon, never from anywhere but his office. The second sign, obviously enough, was the worried tone the man had when Quercus answered. Not that the tone mattered much, since his very first words were clear enough on their own.<p>

"We have a problem."

Apparently, the police knew _something_ of the Amano Group's dealings with a smuggling ring. They had no actual proof yet nor they knew much of anything about the smuggling activities, but they didn't seem to be willing to back off before looking into the matter: Amano's attempts at bribing had yielded no result this time, and that was perhaps the aspect that had surprised the man the most. He certainly was far too used to have money covering up for any slip-up he did, Quercus would muse later.

"If they have nothing yet, then it's not much of a problem, is it?" he had asked, mildly annoyed by the fact Amano apparently could not take care of something that simple. "All they know is that there were shady dealings, so make a scapegoat out of someone who doesn't know anything and let them take the fall."

And that was when Amano had dropped the bomb: apparently, the police had a witness.

"It's surely one of the company's employees, but I cannot figure out who, nor how they found out," Amano had said. "And no one in charge of the investigation will tell me anything, no matter what. They seem to be set keeping their identity a secret, and as long as I have no idea who it is I cannot even know how much they really know, let alone… silence them before they can testify."

Fine, Quercus had thought, now _that_ was a problem. There was no doubt that the witness needed to be silenced before they could testify and cause damage not only to the Amano Group, but also to the smuggling ring itself.

But on the other hand, if they did not know who it was, there was little they could do. In the end, he had given Amano his ultimatum: he was to find out who the mole was, and then Quercus would make sure they would be dealt with in a way that would not implicate his corporation.

Of course, the catch was that Amano would use his influence on that country's judicial system to make sure whatever agent he sent to do the job would not be convicted; he was not willing to lose one of his men and leave a potential weapon in the police's hands only to help out that incompetent's corporation.

In the end, however, it was not Amano to find out the witness' identity.

* * *

><p>"That useless <em>imbecile<em>!"

The growl was out of Quercus' mouth before he could even think of stopping himself, and furious as he was he probably wouldn't have hold back even if he could. He was in his office, after all, and the only other person there was Manny Coachen.

"Sir?" Coachen asked. Usually the question would have been accompanied by a quizzical glance, but this time the young man seemed to have trouble even meeting his gaze; understandable, considering the tension that had been growing for the past several days.

The day the mole would testify was drawing closer, and Amano still was no closer to finding out who in the world could it possibly be. Quercus had even considered taking the matter in his own hands, but he had quickly realized that if Amano could not find the mole in his own company, he had even less chances of success. It was frustrating, it truly was: someone was up to throw a wrench in his schemes, and he could not know who until they spoke and the damage was done.

He was sure he could limit said damage when it came to himself and the smuggling ring, yes, but the Amano Group was one of the ring's best assets and losing it would still deal some damage… not to mention that, by now, it was _personal_. He hadn't made it that far to let some worthless _nobody_ hinder his operations; he would deal with it precisely the same way he had dealt with insubordination back in the army – death.

"Do you even need to ask, Coachen? Amano still hasn't been able to find out who this _witness_ is," Quercus gritted out, leaning on his desk with both elbows.

Coachen recoiled a little, then nodded. "Oh. Of course. He truly has no idea, then?" he asked.

He sounded worried, and that was no surprise: while he knew Quercus could limit the damage that whatever testimony or investigation against the Amano Group could bring to the smuggling ring, he – unlike Quercus himself – had no real extraterritorial rights, not being an Ambassador himself and being an American citizen as well as Cohdopian. The boy was probably seeing his bright-looking future in grave danger, Quercus mused. "No, he doesn't. But it will have to come out, if anything after the testimony is given. And then they won't be able to hide. The damage may be done, but they will pay, and serve as example," he said coldly.

Coachen visibly winced, and Quercus couldn't help but think it was an excessive reaction from his part: he was no shrinking violet, he had already proved that much. He looked up at the young man, and noticed, for the first time in days, how pale and nervous he looked. Perhaps a little too nervous, considering that for now there was no true risk for them.

"Is something the matter, young man? You look pale," he said slowly, still carefully looking up at him. There was a sudden gut feeling that told him to press on for an answer now, and it was the same gut feeling he'd have on the battlefield when he realized he needed to change strategy, or when he'd turn just on time to counter an assassin's attack. He had listened to it before, and had lived through a dangerous life; he would listen to it this time, too.

Coachen licked his dry lips and spoke without looking at him. "I was simply thinking that perhaps death is unnecessary," he said calmly, busying himself with the folder in his hands.

Quercus' brow furrowed.

"Unnecessary?" he repeated. Now that was… peculiar. He would have expected someone like Coachen to be eager to make sure nothing came out, and the witness' death was the only way to be certain of that. And Coachen did not strike him as the kind of man to shrink from some necessary death.

"If… if Amano finds out the witness' identity before the testimony, that's it," Coachen explained quickly. "Perhaps they can be bribed into silence, or… convinced in some other way."

Quercus slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving Coachen's face. "If they were interested in money, they would have considered blackmail at the very least. No, it looks like we're dealing with a law-abiding citizen here. And such people," he added, his voice dropping into a drawl, "can not be trusted to keep their mouth shut."

Coachen's mouth twitched for a moment, but he kept quiet and turned to the door, as though wishing he could just turn and leave. "I… see. I should go, sir. I believe Mr. Mann wants me to-"

"_Coachen_."

The young man winced when Quercus spoke up, his voice sharp. He turned to look back at him, and while he was usually a good actor all pretense seemed to be gone: he was staring at him with the wide-eyed gaze of a hare caught in the headlights.

All of a sudden, he looked like a scared boy – a scared boy with something to hide.

Quercus's eyes narrowed. "Is there something you think you should share with me, Coachen?" he asked, his voice quiet and cold.

Coachen swallowed. "Not quite. I was simply-" he trailed off when Quercus slammed one hand on his desk with a loud bang and stood, teeth bared and eyes ablaze.

"Don't you think you can lie to me, Coachen!" he snapped. "You may think you're good, boy, and maybe you are, but I can read you like an open book. What is it you're hiding? What do you know of this business? This is going to be your only chance to talk, and you _will_ talk, or _so help me-_" he trailed off abruptly and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm down. He could guess in that moment what was it he knew, and why; thinking about it, it had actually been rather obvious. But screaming would get him no closer to making Coachen admit to it; he had to keep calm, and keep pressing on. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and when he opened them again his furious expression melted into a shark-like smile. "You know who this… _witness_… is, don't you, Coachen?" he asked.

"I…" Manny Coachen tried to speak, but he seemed unable to. Quercus' smile widened.

"Isn't your tongue working? Pity. Let me do the speaking then, boy: I think you know who the witness is. But then why do you refuse to tell me so?" he chuckled darkly. "I see two possibilities here. One is that you know who this witness is because you had some… dealings with this person behind my back, the kind you wouldn't want me to know of. In which case, I'm afraid I have to tell you you've signed your own death sentence. Is that so?"

Coachen frantically shook his head. "No! I haven't! I-"

"The other possibility is see," Quercus went on without even acknowledging his desperate answer, "is that you know who the mole in the Amano Group is because they told you so themselves. Or, more accurately, she told you so herself. Because I know of only one Amano Group employee you are close to. So tell me, Coachen – which one is it? Is it your death sentence that's been signed, or Ms. Yew's?"

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, Quercus' gaze unwavering and Coachen's one of dawning horror. Finally, he rested his back against the wall and let himself slide down to sit on the floor, burrowing his face in his hands. The folder fell on the ground, but neither noticed.

"You have not yet answered, Coachen," Quercus finally said icily.

Coachen drew in a deep breath, his hands still pressing on his face. "Cece… she came across some… some things… she shouldn't have seen," he choked out. "Someone in the Amano Group was not careful enough. She told me about it, and I… I tried to tell her she should forget about it, that it could be dangerous. But she wouldn't listen. She said it was her duty to… to report…" his voice faded, and he fell silent.

Quercus slowly nodded. That made sense: Coachen was clearly very taken with the young woman, and of course he would not want to expose her and put her in mortal danger. He had been foolish, of course: putting anyone's well-being above his role in the ring was not something Quercus was willing to tolerate.

Then again, no damage had been done yet and Coachen was so young… and he could certainly learn from his mistakes. All he needed to learn so was a lesson he would not forget, one that would press the point home more than any other possible punishment. "Do tell me," Quercus finally spoke up. "Does she know of this embassy's involvement? Of _your_ involvement?"

A deep breath, then Coachen pulled his hands off his face and shook his head. "No on both accounts, sir," he croaked. There was something on his face now, a glimmer of hope that made Quercus scoff inwardly. If he thought he was planning on letting her live after causing him such trouble, he was sorely mistaken. "She only knows the Amano Group had a hand in smuggling goods, and her knowledge on even what kind of goods is vague at most. She has no idea-" Coachen trailed off when another cold, cruel smile twisted Quercus' lips.

"If that's the case, everything will be easier. She will trust you to get close enough to her, won't she?"

Any color that had been left on Coachen's face seemed to drain away right on that instant. "Sir…?" he called out, sounding confused, but Quercus could tell that he had realized what he was asking of him, and that he was trying to fight back the dawning horror with desperate denial.

Quercus looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "She has to be silenced, Coachen," he said. "She signed her own death sentence the moment she spoke with police. And you will be the executioner."

"Wha- _no_!" Coachen let out a wounded animal's cry and leapt on his feet immediately. "She knows nothing of any relevance! She is no threat! She-!"

"_Anyone_ who can give out _any_ information the police is not supposed to know is a threat!" Quercus cut him off. "The people leading this investigation seem to be determinated to find out precisely what's going on, and this leads me to believe both detective Badd and prosecutor Faraday have at least a hunch that the Amano Group is merely one pawn in a bigger operation. Any information in their hands can be a weapon against us, Coachen. Not against _me_ personally," he added with a smirk. "No, never enough to take _me_ down. But the operations could be seriously hindered, and I will not allow that. Not that any of this is going to be your problem, though – because if you fail or refuse to silence Cece Yew yourself, Coachen, you're as good as dead. Both of you are. Her fate is sealed, young man. It's out of your hands. The only question is, will _you_ live? Or will you die as well?"

Quercus knew there was absolutely no doubt in Coachen's mind that he would deliver exactly what he had promised: one look at his terrified expression was enough to tell him just that. How amusing it was, looking at the ambitious young man finally realizing what kind of game he had gotten himself into… and what kind of consequences he may have to pay for his foolishness.

Still, the young man found it in himself to speak again. "You can't ask me to do it," he said weakly, his voice barely even audible.

Quercus' eyes narrowed. "I'm not _asking_, Coachen. I'm ordering you to. Refuse this order, and you will die along with her. It has to be you – and you know why?" he added with a sneer. "Because you have known she knows too much for weeks, have known it was her all along, and said nothing. You saw both me and Amano scramble to find out who was it we should silence and you. Said. _Nothing_."

His words came out as a thundering growl, causing Coachen to shudder. "I… thought I could convince…"

"If you really thought you could, you would have tried already," Quercus cut him off. "Instead, you did not even tell her what your role in this is. That speaks volumes on how not even _you_ think you could convince her. Whatever you hoped you could do matters not, Coachen. All _I _know is that you've kept vital information from me, and you should die because of this," he paused, and smiled at the young man's expression: it was that of a lamb waiting for the final blow on the neck. "Instead, I'm giving you a change to fix everything. End her, prove me it was only a young man's foolish mishap, and you will keep your life and position. Refuse to do so, and she still dies, while you…" he paused and have a brief, cold laugh. "Why, I think I've said it more than enough for you to grasp it," he finished.

"I…" Coachen swallowed, and whatever he wanted to say died in his throat when Quercus spoke again.

"And know this: should you even think of saving her and yourself by exposing the smuggling ring, then your demise will only be postponed, because I know exactly what to do so that you'll have to bear all the blame for this. Your new allies will be your enemies then, Coachen, and while they deal with you Cece Yew will still die. So tell me – will you make amends by silencing her, or will you not?"

Manny Coachen stared back at him for several moments, horribly pale, then he staggered forward and for a moment – just for a moment – Quercus almost thought he would lunge for him, and braced himself to fight back. But he did not: he simply fell on his knees, as though all strength had been drained from him.

When he spoke again his voice was hoarse, and his eyes did not leave the polished floor. "Will it… be quick?" he managed to ask.

Quercus smiled, pleased. He hadn't truly thought Coachen would be foolish enough to die for no reason, but it was still good to see him finally agreeing. "It depends on you, boy," he finally answered, holding out a hand to help him up. "If you do precisely as I say, then yes. I know a few things on how to kill someone without them even realizing it."

For a few moments Coachen did not move, then he nodded and slowly reached up to grab Quercus' outstretched hand and pull himself up. And, with just that, Cece Yew's fate was sealed.

As was his.

* * *

><p>"So I'm supposed to pose as this woman's sister at the trial and keep an eye on these two," Chrysalis said, looking down at the two men in the picture. "The detective and the prosecutor. Is that so?"<p>

Chrysalis' voice was perfectly calm, something Quercus couldn't help but appreciate after the hassle talking Coachen into playing his part had been. He nodded. "Precisely. These two have been persistent in trying to investigate various smuggling operations for a while. We could get rid of them, of course, but at the same time that could draw some unwanted attention on their work. Keeping an eye on them seems the best solution for time being. They seem to work together most of the time, and Yew is currently under detective Badd's protection – which means that once she's murdered Faraday will almost certainly take the case against Coachen. He's the one who keeps looking into Amano's business, after all."

Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. "You're planning on letting them catch him?"

"Why not? That's part of the plan. He will never be sentenced: Amano will take care of whatever evidence against him they may have, and create a scapegoat for the scandal in their corporation. By next week, all of this will be behind us. As for you, you'll have a new identity as a defense attorney and the objective to keep en eye on both detective Badd and prosecutor Faraday. Are you up for the task?" he asked quietly.

It was amazing, really, how quickly she had grown used to the idea of working for a smuggling ring. But it didn't seem to bother her at all, not even at the start. It was as though she accepted it as something completely normal, her new normal. Not much of anything seemed to faze her. And that, he had to admit, made her an excellent element.

Unaware of his musings, Chrysalis nodded. "Of course. I'm certain it will be exciting," she said, then lowered her eyes on the fake documents she had just been given to read her new name – fake, but no less fake than the one Quercus had come up with for her when she was still a child – and the first surname she had ever been given. "Calisto Yew," she read, and smirked. "It does have a nice ring to it."


	28. The Trial

_A/N: sorry for the delay in the update: I got my specialist degree last week and spend most of said week either partying or dealing with the resulting hangovers.  
>Indochine, I promised you I'd get von Karma and Gant in the fic somehow, and I did. Hope you'll like the scene even though it's nothing special. <em>XD

* * *

><p>The news the Cohdopian ambassador's secretary had been arrested and would soon stand trial for the murder of a young woman caused quite a stir. Still, it was nothing more than what Quercus had expected... and, all things considered, he thought he had handled the matter rather well. He had avoided the press, but that was something to be expected for a man in his position and no one had suspected anything; his only comment had been given through an official statement. Nothing special, of course: he had done nothing but state that he was certain his secretary would soon be found innocent of that heinous crime, that he had complete trust in the American justice system, that the law enforcement could of course count on his full cooperation and that he hoped Miss Yew's murderer would soon be caught.<p>

And it had been considered more than enough from his part. After all, it wasn't on him most of the attention was focused: they all focused on the victim, on the suspect... and on the Amano Group. Still, Amano had proved himself to be surprisingly clever: not only he had kept his promise of having the security tape that would prove Coachen's guilt stolen, he had also been working to set up a scapegoat – some obscure employee whose name Quercus could not for his life remember. Not that it mattered, of course: all that mattered now was that by the end of that incident the smuggling ring stayed under wraps, that Yew's death served as an example to anyone who'd try to stand in their way... and that Coachen had learned his lesson.

He certainly had, Quercus thought while looking down at the defendant's chair. He was dreadfully pale and was chewing his lower lip bloody, and it was not hard to tell why: the prosecutor was currently showing once again to the court pictures taken on the crime scene, pictures of Cece Yew's lifeless body. She lay on her side in a pool of blood, a knife lodged between her ribs.

It looked as though Coachen had done exactly how he had instructed him, Quercus mused. And, as he had promised him, Cece Yew's had been a very quick one: she looked as though she was sleeping rather than dead. She had likely not even begun to realize what was happening; for her, everything was over before it even began.

_Was it like this for you as well, Laurie?_

The sudden thought caused him to frown. He forced himself to chase it away and instead focused his attention on the young woman sitting on the other side of the courtroom, in one of the front rows – Chrysalis.

No, he corrected himself, that was someone else entirely now – that was Calisto Yew, the victim's estranged – and now grieving – sister. How fortunate, he mused, that Miss Yew had no living relatives left: no one could expose Chrysalis' cover, and she would be able to grow closer to Prosecutor Faraday and Detective Badd. Close enough, hopefully, to be able to keep an eye on them and their attempts at finding the head of a smuggling ring whose existence they could only guess.

Quercus let his gaze wander on the two men in question, and he had to hold back a smirk as he listened to Faraday's explanations on how a vital piece of evidence – the tape, of course – had been stolen from his office the previous night. He knew that much was true, of course... but anyone who knew no better could easily think of it as a desperate lie. And that was something the defense attorney – one Robert Hammond, if he remembered correctly – immediately pointed out.

"You'll forgive me for being doubtful, but the security guards already stated that no one showed up tonight, and that there is no evidence of anyone entering this building through any means," he said, causing Quercus' grudging admiration for Amano's resources go up another notch. "Not to mention that today the defense heard of a such piece of evidence for the very first time. If you don't mind me being blunt, Faraday, the only evidence we have of this tape even existing is your own word and that of detective Badd. There is a man's freedom and life on the line – we cannot rely on words! We need proof! Can you produce it, prosecutor, or can you not?"

Quercus looked back at Faraday, at his rigid posture and expression, and he could tell two things: that he was still going to put up a fight... and that he was going to lose it.

"Unfortunately, we cannot. As I already said, Mr. Hammond, the tape is no longer in my possession," he said stiffly. "Still, we do have other arguments-"

"_Arguments_ are hardly the same as proof," Hammond immediately countered.

Faraday worked his jaw for a moment before speaking again. "I suppose not, but what trouble is there in hearing me out? As for your proof, several bailiffs are currently searching the building for the tape; if it's still hear, it will be found. The defense asks for a recess, to let them finish the search," he finished.

Quercus could tell he did not truly think the tape would be found anywhere in the courthouse – he simply could not be so naïve – but he was still trying to buy time, perhaps to come up with another strategy to put to use.

No matter, he thought as he absent-mindedly listened the judge according a twenty minutes recess: it was going to be useless in any case, and he wouldn't mind it at all if the little show went on for a little longer. He was not especially busy those days, after all. He just hoped he'd be back on time to water in plants the usual time.

"Ambassador Alba, sir? The bailiff said we can head to one of the prosecutor lobbies," one of his bodyguards – how amusing, Quercus often thought, that anyone may think of him as someone in need of protection whenever he stepped out of the embassy! – said quietly. "The recess was unexpected, but they still can grant a room for you alone. Security reasons," he added as though Quercus had asked.

Quercus bit back a question on why did they all seem to think someone would try assassinating him any moment and shot one last glance below. Coachen was walking out of the courtroom along with his lawyer, while Chrysalis – Calisto – sat on the same bench as before with her head in her hands. What a convincing actress, he thought with some amusement, then nodded and spoke in a mournful tone. "How awful of me, causing such a hassle to you all," he muttered, standing up and pretending to stagger for a moment.

"Do not mention it, sir. It's simply our duty."

"And you're doing such an outstanding job," Quercus muttered, turning to leave the courtroom along with them. He followed them down a hallway, taking care to limp noticeably enough – it was not yet the right time for him to take a step further in that little act and get himself a cane, but he was planning on doing so at some point – and lost in thought. Everything so far was going according to the plan, and he could tell Coachen would walk out of that courthouse a free man... as free as a man could be when dealing with crippling regrets and bound to a duty he would never be able to quit.

He knew a few things of how _that_ was like, he mused. But Coachen could still prove himself useful, even more so now that he had learned his lesson and would never again try to-

"_I demand to know what's the meaning of this!"_

A man's shout suddenly snapped Quercus from his thoughts just as he and the bodyguards stopped in front of the open door of the prosecutor lobby he was apparently meant to wait for the recess to be over. He glanced ahead, past the guards and through the door. He could see a bailiff in there, looking all the world like he he'd rather be anywhere else; the man he was speaking to – the one who had shouted, he supposed – was out of his field vision.

"I'm truly sorry, Mr. von Karma, but as I said the recess was not planned, and Ambassador Alba-"

"Pah! This is a court of justice, not an embassy! Whatever business he has here is none of my concern. I shall not be pushed around like some rookie to make room for some bureaucrat!" the other man – von Karma, had Quercus heard right? What a curious name – snapped back.

"But, sir... you see, there are... security reasons... the Chief of Justice..." the bailiff stammered, clearly at his wit's end. One of Quercus' bodyguards turned to him.

"Do you wish for us to-" he began, but Quercus shook his head.

"No, no, do stay here. I think I can handle this myself. I've fought wars back in my day, after all," he said with a chuckle, and walked through the door without waiting for any kind of response. "My apologies for interrupting, but what seems to be the problem?"

Two men turned to look at him: the bailiff – who looked as though he was moments away from crying – and von Karma. The latter was probably just a few years younger than himself, in his late fifties, with gray hair and cold, dark eyes. His expression was stony, but what actually made Quercus raise an eyebrow was his clothing: that kind of attire and that cravat certainly were not something common to see on anyone at that time and age.

The man scowled and spoke, his voice as cold as his glare. Even though Quercus had wanted to keep on his feeble façade through any exchange the two of them could have, he found it suddenly hard to do: no one had _dared _to use that tone with him in more time than he cared to remember – no one but Queen Luzula, and she was an exception in so many ways – and Quercus found himself scowling almost against his own will.

"The _problem_ is that I'm hardly someone who appreciates being pushed around," von Karma said, and while his English was flawless Quercus could detect a hint of a foreign accent. "I'm a prosecutor with a trial to win, I am to be back in the courtroom in minutes and I will not leave this lobby until then. I _will not _be late or early. There is no place for setbacks and imperfections in my work, Mr. Alba, and thus there is no place in this room for-"

"_Ambassador_ Alba, if you will," Quercus cut him off, his voice sharp. The hell with his façade, he thought – he would not let a man who had certainly still been in law school while he single-handedly won his country a _war _talk down to him. "I am an ambassador, prosecutor von Karma, and you _shall_ address me as such."

Von Karma abruptly fell silent, but it clearly wasn't because he was especially impressed: the incredulous expression on his face was enough to tell Quercus he couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around the fact he had just been snapped at, as though he couldn't believe anyone would be foolish enough to do so.

_Well, that makes two of us_.

In the end, von Karma spoke again in what was nothing short of a growl. "Listen here and listen close, _ambassador_," he said, spitting out his title as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. The tip of the cane he was holding hit the floor as though to make a point."I don't know nor care how important you think you are in whatever obscure, retrograde country you're from-"

"You don't sound American, either," Quercus cut him off once again. "Pray tell, then, what important role do _you_ exactly have in _your_ country?"

If gaze could kill Quercus would have probably collapsed in that very instant, but that was nothing worrying to him: people had tried to kill him in far more effective ways than glaring, after all. Then his gaze fell on von Karma's hand tightening on the handle of his cane and for a moment he thought the other man would hit him, but in the end he was wiser than starting a diplomatic incident and settled to express his displeasure in words only.

"You insolent _imbecile_-" von Karma began, but he didn't get to say much else, before being cut off... this time, not by Quercus.

"Now, guys, let's be reasonable here," a man's booming voice came from just outside the door, its owner clearly speaking to the bodyguards outside. "You think you can handle the guy in there, but really, you _can't_. Fredo's a hard nut to crack, honest. And we don't want a diplomatic incident, do we? No? Great. Then let me through so that I can pick him up and-"

"What in God's name makes you think I'm going to let you, as you put it, 'pick me up', Gant?" von Karma immediately spoke up, and Quercus turned to the door to see a tall, imposing man with graying hair, an orange coat and pink – _pink?_ – spectacles on the doorway. Quercus' bodyguards stood in the way, but he was looking past them and directly at Quercus.

"Hey. Ambassador Quercus Alba, right? Chief detective Damon Gant," he introduced himself with a smile and a wave. "Mind if I get in?"

There was something oddly unsettling in the man's cheerfulness, but if anything he seemed to be friendlier than prosecutor von Karma and his presence did seem to annoy the man even further, so Quercus eventually nodded and gestured for the bodyguards to step aside and let him in. "I can't see why not," was all he said.

Gant laughed, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Wonderful! Let me settle this quickly, then. Freddie, sorry for interrupting your attempt at a diplomatic incident, but the recess is almost over. We can head back to the courtroom and leave this lobby to the ambassador. See, no harm done. The ambassador gets to be on his own, you win your trial and I have a nice long swim once I'm done testifying. How does that sound?"

Von Karma glared daggers at him. "That's beside the point! I will not be insulted by- _for heaven's sake_, Gant!" he snapped when Gant laughed and gave him a pat on the shoulder that was probably meant to be friendly but that almost made the prosecutor tumble on the ground.

"Now, now, no need to fight," he chided him, and turned to glance at Quercus. He gave him a long and almost unnerving gaze, and for a moment Quercus felt though he was looking through him rather than _at_ him. Then the man's seriously expression melted into yet another smile. "Don't you agree?"

Quercus shrugged. "I never had any intention to start any fight," he pointed out, giving a quick glance at von Karma – who, on the other hand, looked all the world like he had eaten a lemon and was still rubbing his right shoulder. Odd, the pat hadn't been _that_ strong.

Gant smiled brightly at him. "You didn't? Good! Nice to see we're on the same page, Quirky."

Quercus blinked. Had he just...? "I'm sorry, but how did you exactly call me?" he asked.

Von Karma snorted. "I'll have you know that protesting over his ridiculous monickers is futile," he said somewhat grimly, had though he had uselessly tried to do just that more than a few times.

"Complain, complain. At least I keep things from getting boring, Freddie," he said, earning himself yet another glare from von Karma.

"I'm meant to be perfect, Gant. Not a jester like yourself."

"Then it's good for both of us that I took on that role, isn't it?" Gant said with a shrug. "Now, how about we head to our trial and let Quirky rest a bit before he has to get back to his? Bad stuff, by the way – I heard one of your employees at the embassy was accused of having murdered a pretty young lady," he added, giving him another piercing gaze.

Quercus decided to just ignore that ridiculous nickname and nodded. "A tragedy, indeed. Poor Miss Yew had a whole life ahead of her. Still, I am certain my secretary's name will be cleared today. I can only hope the true culprit will be caught and brought to justice soon," he added, reaching up to stroke his beard, but his hand stilled when he realized von Karma had stopped rubbing his shoulder and was now glancing more carefully at him, as though something had just occurred to him. "Is something the matter?" Quercus asked drily.

Von Karma tilted his head to one side. "Does the victim in question happen to be the Amano Group employee who was murdered two days ago?"

Quercus blinked. "Indeed," he said. "You seem well informed on the matter. Then again, I suppose it was on the newspapers."

The other man shook his head. "Not much of what soils newspapers these days is worth my attention, so I hardly take a look past the first page," he stated somewhat impatiently, as though he thought absolutely _everyone_ should know that already. "I simply heard so from a friend of mine. Namely, Ernest Amano."

Quercus wasn't sure what surprised him the most: that that unpleasant individual did have a such thing as _friends_, or that said friend happened to be someone annoying like Ernest Amano. For a moment he wondered if the man was the 'mole in the courthouse' Amano had boasted about, but it did not seem the case to him: if he were, he would have likely been careful not to even mention the case in front of a detective. "I see," he said carefully. "I had the occasion of speaking with Amano myself when my secretary was arrested. It seems he's having a hard time on his own, with suspicions over Miss Yew's death. It seems she thought she had found proof some some kind of illegality in Mr. Amano's company, and that she was meant to testify before her murder."

Von Karma nodded, a disgusted expression on his face. "Yes, I am aware of that. It's simply ridiculous: talk of illegality is nothing but idle chat unless it's in a court of law. And yet those jackal I hesitate to call journalists are all over this case, claiming the two things are connected and bringing up outlandish theories of conspiracy without any proof to back them up. The nerve! It's no wonder the crime rate in this country... what _is_ it, Gant?" he asked in annoyance when Gant noisily cleared his throat.

The detective shrugged. "Well, I know you love it to complain on how pesky kids won't get off your lawn, Freddie, but if you don't cut it now you're going to be late for the first time since when the last dinosaur breathed its last."

Von Karma shot him an annoyed glance, but in the end his urge to be perfectly on time seemed to outweigh the annoyance. "Fine. Fine," he muttered, and stepped past them and out of the lobby without saying another word, the cane hitting the floor with each step he took. The bodyguards outside immediately parted to let him through, and he didn't spare them a glance.

Gant sighed. "I'd like to say he's not always like that, but he _is_. I always say a good long swim would help him relax, but he never takes me on that offer. Oh well," he said with a shrug, then turned to glace at Quercus from above the pink spectacles. "Do _you_ swim, Quirky?"

Quercus stared back at him, rather unimpressed. "I was under the impression you had a trial to attend to," he said drily.

Another dramatic sigh. "True enough. Ah, work. Work work work. All work and no fun makes Gant a dull boy," he muttered with a chuckle before – _finally_ – walking off to the door. He waved without even turning. "See you around, Quirky."

I hope not, Quercus thought, but decided to keep his mouth shut: somehow, it seemed wiser that way.

* * *

><p>When the trial resumed and Quercus could walk back into the courtroom, just one look at Hammond's smug expression and Faraday's stiff posture was enough to tell him the end was very, very close – and that it was going to be exactly the end he had been expecting. He held back a smirk and sat, letting his gaze wander through the courtroom to see how Chrysalis was holding herself.<p>

And there she was, talking with detective Badd, and for a moment Quercus found himself staring in surprise. She stood rigidly, as though she feared she'd collapse if she allowed herself to let herself go; her face was a mask of anguish as she listened to Badd's murmured words, a hand over her mouth as though she was trying to hold back a sob. She was perfect, absolutely perfect: had he not known better, Quercus could have fallen for it himself.

"The court is back in session for the trial of Manny Coachen," the judge's voice rang out, causing all murmurs in the courtroom to die down and Badd to hurriedly walk away from Chrysalis – Calisto – and back to his seat. He looked especially grim, even more than Faraday did; not a surprise, considering that Cece Yew was supposedly under his protection when she was murdered.

"The defense is ready, Your Honor But," Hammond said, smugness plain in his voice, "it appears the prosecution is not."

The judge frowned. "I take it the tape was not found. Is that so, prosecutor Faraday?"

Byrne Faraday nodded, clearly frustrated. "It's nowhere to be found in this building," he admitted.

"Or perhaps never existed in the first place," Hammond countered.

"Are you saying we're liars?" Badd asdked, his voice quiet and slow. A hand reached into his coat, and Hammond's smile seemed to waver.

"That's not what I-" he began, only to be cut off, or perhaps saved, by the judge.

"At any rate, we're missing a piece of evidence and thus I see no way nor reason for this trial to go any further. The prosecution could not produce any reliable proof of Mr. Coachen's guilt, and as Mr. Hammond pointed out speculation is not enough. For this reason, this court finds the defendant, Manny Coachen, not guilty. It is all. The court is adjourned."

The judge brought down his gavel, and the very same moment he did a cry rose in the courtroom, so filled with grief that for a moment Alba didn't even realize who it had come from. Then his gaze fell on Chrysalis, and he realized it had been her to cry out: she was not slumping back on her seat, her face burrowed in her hands and her shoulders shaking. Once again, he could scarcely believe his eyes – she was _perfect_.

Quercus held back a smirk when he saw both Badd and Faraday slumping their shoulders, and turned his gaze to Coachen. He was standing from the defendant's chair, pale and looking all the world like he had no idea what was going on anymore. He staggered back a little, clearly overwhelmed – Quercus supposed that being on trial had to be a rather unsettling experience even when acquittal is the only possible result – and didn't fall back solely because Robert Hammond reached out to steady him. Quercus could see the attorney saying something to Coachen, maybe congratulating him; Coachen smiled back a little shakily before reaching out to shake Hammond's hand, the he looked up – where he knew Quercus had been sitting all along.

Their gazes met for a few moments, then Quercus nodded ever so slightly before turning to leave. Both of them had held their respective half of the bargain: Coachen had rectified his foolish mistake by silencing Cece Yew for good, and Quercus had granted him freedom and a second chance to prove himself. And now that Coachen knew exactly how far Quercus could go, what consequences mistakes could have, Quercus was sure he would be very, very careful not to waste that one chance.

And he was right, at least for a time: a decade would pass before he'd realize that, as far as Coachen was concerned, he had relied too much on fear and corruption and severely underestimated the power of greed and grudge. It was ironic, he would think ten years from that day, how he of all people had forgotten how powerful the desire of revenge could be, and how much hatred a man can feel against the one who took from them what they held dearest.

* * *

><p>As much as he didn't truly like to admit it, Quercus had to concede that Amano had handled the scandal wonderfully. He had created a scapegoat to take the fall of the smuggling operations – one obscure employee called Devorae or something similar, and Quercus hadn't been too surprised to find out he had been convicted by a prosecutor called Manfred von Karma – and was picking up things exactly where they had been left off, his name completely cleared.<p>

"Of course, my old friend didn't know he was a scapegoat," Amano had said when Quercus had asked about it in a moment of mild curiosity. "He may have suspected so, maybe, but it made no difference to him: all good old Manfred cares for is winning in court. He usually takes more serious cases than this, but I asked him to prosecute as a personal favor: I knew that with him as the prosecutor, the trial could only end with a conviction."

All in all, Quercus mused, that case had actually given him an advantage: it had given him the perfect excuse to set someone upon the two men who seemed to have realized the existence of a smuggling ring that extended far past the dealings the Amano Group had been involved into – prosecutor Faraday and detective Badd.

Of course, Quercus had contemplated the idea of getting both men killed; it would have been almost ridiculously easy to arrange and accident for both of them. But while one death could maybe go unnoticed, there was a far too real chance that two deaths would cause people to wonder... and seek a reason in the cases they were working onto together.

And that was a risk he would not take. So let them think they were safe, let them think the ring had not yet realized they were a problem; let them try to do anything while, unbeknownst to them, they were being closely watched and even directed. Chrysalis would be able to do both things, he was certain of it: if he had had any doubts before, after seeing what a convincing actress she made there was none left.

"Ambassador Alba, sir?"

Quercus turned away from the window and glanced back at Manny Coachen, who had walked in through the open door in silence. A couple of weeks had passed since the trial, and everything was back to normal; at least the closest thing to normal it could be.

Quercus had not mentioned Cece Yew once, nor had Coachen, but it was clear that the name hung between them from time to time, when they both were silent for those few moments before either of them spoke again. Coachen himself was professional as he had always been, but he looked paler and somewhat older, and it had not escaped Quercus how he no longer wore any brightly-colored ties. And why should he, after all? The person he wore them for was dead by his own hand. In a way, wearing them had to feel like an insult to her memory.

But that, too, would pass: people have a way to overcome their losses. He should know, after all.

Besides, he could tell the loss had not lessened Manny Coachen's ambition at all. If anything it had strengthened it: after what he had to sacrifice, he certainly thought he deserved something else in return. In that they were so, so alike. And, if he could make the best out of the second chance Quercus was giving him, he _would _have his fair share of gain and power.

"What is it?" he finally asked, his voice even.

"We received a communication from Chr- Calisto," he said quietly, taking an envelope from the small folder he always had with him and settling it on Quercus' desk.

Quercus nodded and went to sit at his desk. "Very well," he said, reaching for the letter. He ripped the envelope open and spoke again without even looking up at the young man. "You do look tired. Take the rest of the days off."

Had he looked, he would have seen hatred flashing in Coachen's eyes for just one moment before he uttered a polite 'thank you' and left. But he didn't look, nor he watched him leave: all his attention was focusing on the report written in Chrysalis' clear handwriting. It was not very long, but it was not missing important information.

_I have met both Badd and Faraday twice after the trial: once when they came to apologize to me for the outcome of the trial, once when I took my office here as a new defense attorney. I was cold to them on the first occasion; I could not believably act otherwise. They seem to be hopeless idealists, especially Faraday; having been unable to protect Yew first and to get her murderer convicted later is affecting them on a personal level. They seem to be growing frustrated with the limits of law, and that leads me to think they might be up to try something outside courtrooms._

_Our second meeting was more meaningful. They saw me in court while I pretended to defend Mr. Devorae, and they seemed especially shocked to see me claiming there was no proof of actual criminal activities in the Amano Group. As I had hoped, they confronted me about it afterward; I told them that if fighting criminals was of no help then learning to know them from the inside would be far more useful, since their method had clearly failed with my 'sister'. When I left, they both seemed rather thoughtful._

_This morning I received a message from Faraday: apparently, they want to talk to me about something. They call it a 'project'. I accepted to meet them in a couple of days. I'll let you know as soon as I know more of what this project they speak of is._

_C._

Quercus read the letter once more, then he gave a shark-like smile. It appeared that everything was going on according to the plan: Faraday and Badd seemed about to take the bait, and if Chrysalis – _Calisto Yew_ – truly could get involved into whatever project they spoke of, then he'd be able to anticipate each and every of their moves. They thought they were so clever, Quercus mused, and they did not know they were doing precisely what he wanted, walking straight into the trap set up for them.

It was delightfully ironic.


	29. Prince Senecio

The next report from 'Calisto' reached Quercus only three days after the first one. As usual, it was Coachen himself to bring it to his office, announced by the usual knock on the door.

"Do come in," Quercus called out, not even turning to glance back. He heard the door opening, and then Coachen's collected voice.

"Has it laid eggs yet, sir?"

Quercus held back a snort. Whenever Coachen walked in to see Quercus standing on his chair to look into the usual birds' nest on the tree branch growing into the office, his voice would always turn slightly sarcastic – though never quite enough to be openly disrespectful. The recent events had made him quieter, but had not changed that.

"Just one, and there are likely more to follow," was all Quercus said, finally climbing down the chair far more quickly than anyone but Coachen would expect him to. "I need to make sure they're not too many days apart, though. If they are, the oldest chick may crush the younger ones. They grow quickly."

Coachen raised an eyebrow. "And how are you planning on preventing that, sir?"

Quercus sighed, leaning back on his seat. "Do you truly want a lesson on how the timing for incubation of fertile eggs works, Coachen, or would you rather tell me what you're here for?"

A pale shade of a smile curled Coachen's lips. "You certainly learned curious things in the army, sir."

"I grew up in the countryside. Now, what is that?" Quercus asked as Coachen put an envelope on his desk.

"Yet another communication from Chrysalis."

And indeed, it was: after opening the envelope, one look at the handwriting was enough of a proof. Quercus smirked and began to read.

"Do you wish me to go, si-"

"No. Stay," Quercus said drily, his eyes still fixed on the report, and withing moments he had forgotten Coachen was even there: his attention was completely taken by what he was ready. So that... that was truly what Faraday and Badd had in mind? Those two would truly have the _galls_ to challenge him at his own game? Pah! Like he had won wars, handled conspiracies and survived assassination to fail to some kind of _vigilante_! The more notion was simply ridiculous... and yet not uninteresting. If he played his cards right, he could even get some entertainment out of those two fools. The thought made him smirk.

"Is the report especially amusing?" Coachen's voice reached him.

Quercus chuckled and looked up at him. "Very," he said. "It concern your _friends_ – prosecutor Faraday and detective Badd. I'm certain you remember them."

Coachen clenched his jaw. "Obviously," he said, his voice a little tighter. No wonder, Quercus thought: those two had done their best to have him convicted, and had they succeeded then there was little doubt on the fact death penalty would be punishment. Then again, they never truly had a chance.

"Well, it appears they took your acquittal quite personally. They were very invested in the case, and seeing you walk out of the courtroom a free man was quite a blow to them."

"I'll consider sending them an official apology," was Coachen's sarcastic comment.

"Oh, no need to. I already had a basket of Cohdopian goods delivered to both them and your attorney under your name. Babahlese ink, Allebahstian paper... and a few rare flower seeds, if memory serves me right."

That caused Coachen to blink. "You... what?"

"In any case," Quercus went on, ignoring the young man's reaction, "they apparently have decided they've had it with the judicial system's uselessness as far as the smuggling ring is concerned, and want to take matters in their own hands."

"Meaning...?"

Quercus took the report and handed it out with a chuckle. "I think it has to be read to be believed."

Coachen took the report to read it, and as he did Quercus was fairly amused to see his eyebrows gradually go up further and further on his forehead.

"A vigilante? _Yatagarasu_? What on Earth are they hoping to accomplish?"

"Justice, apparently," Quercus muttered, amusement plain in his voice. "They have realized their pitiful courtrooms alone can do nothing against the ring. On that, I must concede, they are quite right."

A nod, then Coachen handed him back the letter. "Do you think they may turn out to be an annoyance to us?"

Quercus shrugged, reaching up to stroke his beard. "It is hard to say at this stage. Admittedly, if they turned out to be good that _might_ have been bother – if they didn't happen to ask a certain someone to join in."

"Chrysalis."

A chuckle. "Precisely. Isn't it wonderfully ironic? They need help from a defense attorney as committed to the case as they are, and who do they pick? Our agent. Why, I find it more than just amusing. It's _hilarious_."

"What do you intend to do, sir?"

For a few moments there was no reply. Quercus simply looked down at the report again, read the last few lines, then reached up to stroke his beard. "I suppose I could order Chrysalis to get rid of both of them," he began.

"But you will not," Coachen stated.

"You're starting to know me too well, boy."

"I suspect it has something to do with the fact you repeated several times that killing both of them could draw unnecessary attention on the cases they worked onto."

"True enough," Quercus conceded. He put the report back down on the desk.

"May I ask, then, what you have in mind?"

Quercus looked back up at him. "Apparently, their plan for 'Calisto Yew' is making her their informer," he said, holding back a smirk at how Coachen had winced at the mention of the name 'Yew'. "She told them she needs time to think, obviously – no other answer would have been believable. I'll tell her to accept. This way she'll be able to inform us of what they do, of all they know... and let them have only the information we want them to get. Why, if we can handle things well this may even turn at our advantage."

Coachen frowned. "Wouldn't they be suspicious if all information they got was false?"

Quercus waved his hand. "And how would they know? Amano created a scapegoat, and so can we. We can _make_ whatever information we want true, or at least seem true. They wouldn't know any better. Not to mention that, should any of our connection prove itself not to be reliable enough... well, we could let them have some true information then, don't you think? So that they'd take care of the rotten eggs for us," he finished with a smirk.

"So you're planning on letting them take down our allies?"

"Minor ones, ones that do not know more than what they need to know about the smuggling ring. Ones we don't need to worry about should they speak. Isn't it ironic? They choose to copy our symbol, and wind up doing the dirty work for us by taking care of those whose services we no longer need. It is fitting, though," he added with a laugh, something in that laugh causing Coachen to wince.

"Ravens are nothing but scavenges, after all."

* * *

><p><strong>Cohdopian Embassy, August 2011<strong>

"You have to admit, sir," Coachen said above the newspaper he was reading, "that they do have sense of showmanship."

Quercus hummed in agreement, his eyes still fixed on the letter he was reading – one of Issoria's, for she had never stopped writing him as she had promised even though his replies were sporadic. "Are you referring to the shameless copy of our card they send to each company beforehand, or to the fact Faraday seems to love being photographed in flashy costumes and epic poses on top of rooftops?"

A chuckle. "I suppose both," he said, then, "and this takes the Umbrella Corporation out of our list of associates. According to Chrysalis, they have more than enough proof to take it down."

"Good. It had turned into more of a hindrance than help, and they know nothing important of the smuggling operations past their own role in it. The Yatagarasu did us a favor – again."

"We could have gotten rid of it without having to use the Yatagarasu," Coachen pointed out, folding the newspaper and putting it down on Quercus' desk. "As we could have done with any other company we let them take down."

Quercus nodded somewhat absentmindedly. "Yes, I suppose we could have. But I'll admit I draw some personal satisfaction out of using this so-called thief of justice to our own ends."

There were a few moments of silence before Coachen spoke again. "How long do you plan on staying away, sir?"

The question was enough to sour Quercus' good mood. He scowled. "As long as necessary," he said, opening a drawer and letting Issoria's letter slide in. "Maybe a week, maybe two. However long it takes."

Coachen nodded. "And... do you think it will serve a purpose?" he asked.

That was a question Quercus could not answer to. To be honest, he had been taken by surprise by Queen Wilkiea's request for him to come back to Cohdopia to be present at the meetings between herself, her brother and their uncle Prince Senecio – that troublemaker only good for rallying up other troublemakers in the Babahlese region, Quercus had thought in distaste – to discuss a solution to the current tensions and grudges that were now plain as day between the two regions of the country; as the ambassador to the United States, he had no true official reason to attend.

Still, he would not step back from a request of Cohdopia's ruler; especially since he had known for years that late Queen Luzula's brother was nothing but trouble. No, he would attend the meetings, face him and see what he was planning to do. Queen Wilkiea and her brother may be young and inexperienced and willing to trust, but he was not – and Senecio would not fool him, no matter what lies he spoke and what his true intentions were.

"I still cannot tell," he finally said slowly. "I can only hope so. In any case, the situation seems to be relatively stable for now. I don't think there is an immediate risk of hostility," he added, suddenly reminded that Coachen had family back in the Babahlese region.

"Oh," Coachen said, looking somewhat relieved. "That's good to know."

"I suppose it is. I'll leave in three days; until then, everything is in your hands. And by that I mean _everything_," he added, meaningfully staring at him. "No slip-ups, Coachen."

Any sign of relief immediately faded from Coachen's face, leaving behind an extremely serious expression. "I won't fail you, sir."

And he wouldn't: Coachen's way to handle everything while Quercus was gone would be nothing short of impeccable – but not even he could keep something unexpected from happening, something that would soon force them to drastic measures to keep the embassy's secrets from being exposed.

Put an end to the Yatagarasu.

* * *

><p>Quercus' first thought upon seeing Queen Wilkiea and Prince Delphinium for the first time in five years – having never set foot on Cohdopian soil since their mother's death – was that they had both grown. They looked much like two lost children in the aftermath of Queen Luzula's funeral, but now they looked far more like the young adults they were.<p>

They both seemed relieved and glad to see him back, and while Quercus knew it was likely more due to the fact he had been their late mother's most trusted advisor than to any personal feeling he couldn't deny it felt good – it made him feel like he could truly be useful to his country once again. Still, he tended to speak more to Prince Delphinium; not because he didn't take his sister in equal consideration, but because he was not fond in seeing her wearing the royal garments that had belonged to her mother.

Foolish of him, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Then again, the matter was quickly forgotten the moment Prince Delphinium said something that took Quercus completely by surprise.

"I know you must be tired from the long flight, ambassador," he said apologetically. "But I have something to ask of you before you retire for the night. Our uncle, Prince Senecio, is already in the palace. He wishes to speak to you."

Quercus frowned. "I thought the meeting was supposed to be in the morning. Won't we speak then?"

A nod. "It will be in the morning, yes – but he asked to speak to you, and you alone, in private."

"In private, with me? Why is that, I wonder; I never met the man in person, I'm sure," he muttered, thoughtfully stroking his beard.

"That I do not know, ambassador. He wouldn't tell. I believe he's already waiting for you, but if you're too tired we can let him know that-"

Quercus shook his head. While saying he wished to rest would have perhaps been more befitting the frail façade he still kept up, curiosity got the better of him. What matters could that rat want to discuss with him? Was he thinking he could buy his favor? Bribe him into taking part to whatever dirty trick he had in mind to further slander the Cohdopian royalty in the eyes of the people of the Babahlese region? Whatever he was planning, Quercus wanted to know it before the next day's official meeting.

"No, Your Highness, do not worry. I can and will meet him if so he wishes. Where is he waiting, may I ask?"

"At the Flower Garden."

Upon hearing that, Quercus almost scowled openly. Of all places where he could ask to meet it, did it have to be the Flower Garden – the place he associated with Queen Luzula more than any other in that miserable world?

Still, Quercus let none of his thoughts show. "Very well. I suppose these guards are supposed to escort me?" he added with a hint of humor in his voice, glancing at the guards who had followed them in silence through the palace. "Afraid this old man will lose his way?"

While that statement seemed to make the guards uncomfortable, Prince Delphinium chuckled. "Far from it, ambassador; but you of all people should know the rules hardly allow anyone in the palace to go to the restroom without being escorted by guards."

Quercus smiled. "Fair enough. I'll be on my way, then, and I suppose I'll see you in the morning. It goes without saying I'll have you and Her Highness know what we discussed at the first occasion," he added, giving Prince Delphinium a nod and then turning to the guards. "Let's get going, shall we?"

He followed the guards to the entrance of the Flower Garden without another word. He stayed silent when tThe guards opened the door to let him through, without following, and then closed the door behind him. Quercus was alone when he walked up to the centre of the garden, and right there – gazing down at the pond Queen Luzula always sat near – was Prince Senecio.

He was no young man, of course; he had to be around Quercus' same age, in his mid-sixties, for there was an age gap more than ten years between himself and his late sister. His hair was almost completely gray, but Quercus could see it had once been black; he could not see the man's face, for he was giving him the back, but he could see he was almost as tall as himself and that nothing in his pose made him think of weakness. He hadn't quite expected that: having never met him, he had expected to see an old fat aristocrat while the man he saw standing before him reminded him far more of a seasoned veteran. Suddenly unwilling to keep up his act of weakness in front of him, Quercus straightened himself and called out.

"Your Highness," he said, his voice sharp; it was the only way he could make it clear he considered him unworthy of the title he had to use to refer to him.

Prince Senecio turned to face him, and for a moment Quercus was – again – taken aback. The man's skin was marked by the harsh sun of the Babahlese region and there were deep lines on his bearded face; all in all, nothing in him would make Quercus think he had anything to do with the late queen – nothing but those eyes, black and cold like long-dead embers.

He could never forget them.

"Ambassador Alba," Prince Senecio greeted him, his voice deep and calm but not devoid of some curiosity. "We meet at last. I have to say I've much heard of you, and much wished we could meet in person."

"I've heard much about you as well, Your Highness," Quercus answered. "But you'll forgive me if I've failed to reciprocate the wish of a meeting."

If the remark aggravated him, he did not let it show. Instead, he gazed back at Quercus curiously.

"I suppose this is about my feud with my late sister."

Quercus scowled. "A feud? Any animosity that there was was from your part. You left when she was but a child who had no more power to change the succession rules than you did, and wouldn't even come back when her children were on the brink of death, when she was dying, when she was _buried_. Your occasion to meet me and find me truly willing to speak to you, Your Highness, was five years ago. When your sister breathed her last and _you were not there_."

The last words left Quercus as something akin to a growl, and for just a moment before he collected himself he was almost worried of his reaction, worried he may snap and do or say something he could regret. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm down, and kept staring at Prince Senecio with steely eyes.

The other man said nothing for several moments; he simply returned the gaze. Then he finally glanced down and looked down at the lilies around the pond. "I was told my sister loved this place," he finally said after a long silence.

As though suddenly reminded he was dealing with royalty – distasteful as he found the man himself – Quercus finally nodded. "She did," he said quietly.

"I can see why. It is very peaceful, even though it was not always so. It was here she was attacked by an assassin, was it not? While she was expecting. You saved her life, if I recall correctly, and her children's."

Quercus' eyes narrowed. "You sound well informed for someone who barely ever spoke to her," he said drily. "If I didn't already know who was it to send the assassin, I'd wonder how come you know _this_ much."

A small, sad smile curled Senecio's lips. "There is something I have kept for myself for great many years, ambassador. A weight on my heart, you could say; something I cannot will myself to tell to my niece and nephew. I wish to tell you, though. I only ask you to listen well, and judge me only after I've spoken."

That took Quercus by surprise. For a few moment he stayed silent and still, his eyes never leaving the other man's. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I'm listening," he said quietly.

Senecio nodded at him and finally sat on a bench – the one where Queen Luzula used to sit. He leant forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded as though in prayer. He kept staring at the ground as he spoke. "Several weeks before that attack against my sister," he began, his voice somewhat distant, "I received a visit in my residence in Babahl, where I had retired. It was High General Vulneraria."

Quercus clenched his teeth upon hearing that name for the first time in years, but he did not move nor speak. After a moment of silence, Prince Senecio resumed speaking.

"It was merely a courteous visit, or so he claimed. He was a slippery man, and I did not truly believe it. However, it was the first important visit I got in a long while since when I cut ties with the court upon being denied the throne once for all – so I was all to pleased to meet him. He stayed for a couple of days. I cannot quite recall what we talked about most of the time; small talk, mostly. However, before leaving, he asked me something. He asked me if I still wished I could rule Cohdopia instead of my sister."

All of a sudden, Quercus felt as though his blood had turned into ice in his veins. He could only stare as Senecio lifted his head to look back at him again. "He did not clearly state what he was planning. It could have been an innocent question. But I knew, deep down, that it was not. There had to be something more to it. I knew there had to be. And yet, I did not inquire. I let him leave undisturbed and did not press on the matter. And then... then I waited, for I was certain _something_ would happen."

Then he fell silent, and a long, heavy silence fell on the garden, only broken by the gentle gurgling of the small stream feeding the pond.

"The assassination attempt," Quercus finally murmured, anger finally making it through the surprise. "You... you knew about it beforehand. You knew! You knew of a plan to kill your sister and her heirs, and you did not even try to warn her!" he snarled, his hands finally clenching into fists.

Senecio sighed. "Not quite, no. I didn't know. I suspected. But you are right: while I did suspect, I did not warn her. I chose not to. And when news came weeks later that my sister had escaped an assassination attempt – that she had been saved from an assassination attempt by you, to be exact – I was disappointed. Yes, I was," he added, more to himself than to Quercus now. "Her death that day would have put an end to her both life and that of her unborn children. With no other heirs left, I would have had the throne. That was all I could think at the moment. It was all I could think on the matter for years." A pause, a bitter laugh, then the man spoke again.

"Those in the High Command certainly thought I'd be a great deal like my father as a regent, willing to sit back and be content with a title while they ruled in my stead. I suppose they had a good reason to think so; I was a foolish man then, too furious for being denied my wishes to truly think about anything but having what I thought should be mine. Had the assassination succeeded, had my sister and her children died leaving me the only heir... yes, I do think I would have been like that. Just the way the High Command would have wanted. I put myself and my pride before everything else, while my sister put this country's needs above her own. In the end, she proved though facts that she was the right ruler for this country. Not me. Never me."

There was another long silence, finally broken by Quercus. His voice shook with rage, and only later he would wonder why: what the man had done was even tame compared by what he had done more than once. Had he not coldly ordered bombings on civilians? Had he not ordered murders more than once to keep the smuggling ring going? Had he not made a young man kill the woman he loved to punish them both for two different kinds of defiance?

And yet, as he spoke to Senecio in that moment, there was only one thought in his mind, only one thing he could think of.

_She was your sister. You should have protected her. You were supposed to protect her!_

"So this is it?" he asked, anger plain in his voice and posture and glare. "You would have let her die to have the throne?"

Senecio looked down. "I do not know how I wold have acted had I known, for a fact, what they meant to do. Perhaps I would have faltered; it is hard to say. But you're right: I had a strong suspect and did nothing to protect her. All I could think of was the throne she had taken from me."

What left Quercus' throat was something akin to a growl. "She took _nothing_ from you! She did you no wrong. The throne was hers by birthright! HERS!"

Prince Senecio's lips curled into an odd smile. "How curious," he said, "to hear a self-made man such as yourself, a commoner who had to rise to power starting with nothing and relying on skills alone, advocate for birthrights."

Quercus clenched his teeth. "That's not the point by far," he gritted out. "The law is clear on this, is it not? The first female child born to the Queen and her Consort-" he began, only to be cut off by a bitter chuckle.

"Born to the Queen and her Consort," Senecio repeated. "Yes, that is exactly the point, is it not?"

Words suddenly died in Quercus' throat, the suspects he had had a long time before – that General Durandii may have been more than a friend to Queen Dalea, and more than an advisor to Queen Luzula. Prince Senecio seemed to read the realization on his face, for he nodded.

"I see you knew."

Quercus forced himself to breathe and calm down. "I don't suppose you have proof of your claim," he said coldly.

Senecio shook his head. "I have none, obviously. I simply knew that my parents had barely even met after my birth. They were two strangers forced into marriage by circumstances and tradition; the problem with most arranged marriages, I suppose. I lived with my mother in the palace, as the only heir apparent; even then I realized that she and my father would have no other children together, and my mother had started teaching me the tenets to ruling the country. And then..." he paused and gave a rueful smile. "Then something happened. My mother demanded my father's presence in the palace. They locked themselves in a room to discuss, only the two of them. No one was allowed to attend. I did not know what it was about at first, but then it became clear: my father had agreed to admit his paternity to a child that couldn't possibly be his in order to avoid a scandal."

He paused, as though expecting Quercus to speak, but Quercus had nothing to say. So he sighed and resumed speaking.

"I was angry, of course. I was still too young to even begin to imagine what it must be like – being trapped into a marriage because your role demands for you to take this or that man as your husband. So I was furious at my mother. But most of my anger befell my father: he who had agreed to fix that mess with a lie. I thought him a coward. And of course I knew that, should the baby turn out to be a female, I would be barred from the succession. So I hoped it would be male – oh, didn't all three of us hope it would be male so that nothing would truly change!"

"But it was not," Quercus murmured. "It was a female. The new Crown Princess."

"Precisely." Prince Senecio looked back up at him and smiled bitterly. "Perhaps, had she been my father's daughter, I would have come to accept that state of things. But things being as they were, I could not. The royal line was that of our mother's side and thus she was of royal blood, yes, but she was born out of wedlock and royal bastards cannot by law lay any claim upon the throne. Whatever the gender is. I felt cheated, robbed of what I had come to think should be mine, and hated my sister – yes, _hated_ her – from the instant she breathed her first. As I said, I was young and angry. I was the true heir. That was all I could think – that _I _was the true heir. And I was still thinking that when my mother died soon afterward. I tried to convince my father to tell the truth, but he would not budge: he would keep claiming the girl was his until the day he died. I avoided her and hoped my father would change his mind, but when she turned eighteen and was crowned, I knew he never would. So I refused to attend to the ceremony and left that same night. We never directly spoke again, Luzula and I. I did not regret it for a long time, but now that I grow and feel older and older with each passing day... now I do, Ambassador Alba."

"And yet you did not show at her deathbed, or at her funeral."

"I was hesitant to; I did not know how she'd receive me, if she would at all. I suppose you can say I was scared. Ridiculous, isn't it? Scared of a dying woman. When I found the courage to think I would visit, she was already dead... and by then I did not think it was my place to attend to the funeral."

"It was. You were expected-"

"We lived as strangers, and pretending otherwise in death would have been pointless. I was too late to do anything about it, Ambassador Alba. Far too late."

His words faded into silence, and neither of them spoke for a long time. Quercus wasn't too surprised to realize most of his anger was gone, replaced by an odd sort of melancholy. He knew more than he'd like of missed occasions, of being too late to at least bid farewell to someone. He broke the silence after several minutes.

"I have to ask," he said slowly, "why is it you wanted to tell me all this. Why speak to me, of all people, to clear your conscience?"

Prince Senecio sighed and stood. He took a couple of steps forward, and Quercus realized he was slightly taller than himself. "I wouldn't know who else I could tell this. In all honesty, I cannot find it in myself to tell the whole story to my niece and nephew; they likely have no idea their mother was an illegitimate child, and I do not think I could even face them if they were to know I almost let them die in the womb. I lost any chance to speak to my sister herself. Things being what they are, I suppose the closest I can come to speaking to her is speaking to you, Ambassador Alba. You were close to her, after all. _Very_ close, if some rumors are to be believed."

That last statement immediately caused Quercus to tense again. "If you think your insinuations will have any effect, you're sorely mistaken," he said threateningly. "If you have any hope to find Queen Wilkiea is not the legitimate daughter of Queen Luzula's Consort, you're very much mistaken. She _is_, and so is her brother," he added. Of that he could be certain: they were born before their mother let him in her chambers.

Senecio shook his head. "No, no. I wouldn't say anything like that. Neither looks like you, after all," he chuckled. "And while Queen Wilkiea takes much after her mother in looks her twin, Prince Delphinium, bears a strong resemblance to my sister's Consort. They're his – of that I have no doubt. Even if they were not, I wouldn't breathe a word about it. I have seen the error of my way, and renounced any claim on the Cohdopian throne."

Quercus snorted. "Renounced any claim?" he repeated. "You'll forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, _Your Highness_. Have you not been using the dissatisfaction in the Babahlese region to gain personal power? Pretending you, the self-exiled prince, want to be the one to speak out for them against the injustice inflicted to them by the royal family and the government in Allebahst?"

Prince Senecio gave a low hum, as though he was trying to decide what answer he should give. "It was like that for a time, yes," he finally said. "For a long time, even. I've been building connections with groups wishing for a radical solution in quite a while, in great secret."

"But it's not much of a secret now," Quercus pointed out coldly. "Growing bolder now that our ruler is young and inexperienced, aren't you?"

"Not the way you may think," Senecio replied, and for the first time there was a defensive note in his voice. "As I said, I renounced any claim on the throne and simply want things to change for the best; it may have started for my own selfish thirst of power, yes, but I wouldn't be here today hadn't the cause grown on me. I made foolish and cruel mistakes; I wish to right what I can as long as I still have the strength to act and the Babahlese people are willing to listen to me. But to do this I need to be listened in Allebahst, too. Wilkiea is no worse ruler than her mother was. Times are changing, and I believe she's the right kind of ruler for her time – as Luzula was the right ruler for hers. Things need to change in this country; you must acknowledge that, as the Queen and Prince Delphinium do. The people in the Babahlese region are tired of being second class citizens, and simply wish for the same opportunities people born in the Allebahstian one are granted. Nothing more, nothing less. Many people are willing to fight to obtain that, but if we can cooperate there will be no need for violence."

Quercus stared at him for a few long moments, eyes narrowed, and said nothing. The man's words may be convincing, but that was the same man who had been willing to leave her sister to her fate when he had known, or at least suspected, that there was a conspiracy to end her life. He could not forget that.

In the end, it was Senecio to break the silence. "My desire to relieve my coscience was not the only reason why I wished for your presence here, Ambassador Alba. Yes, it was also upon my suggestion that you were called here; feel free to ask the queen herself if you don't believe me. I wanted to make it clear my intentions are honest. You have been Queen Luzula's most trusted advisor for years, and an expert politician. I may fool my young niece and nephew if so I chose, perhaps, but not you. You're wary of me, as you have every right to be. Am I right?"

Quercus scoffed, but he could see what the man was getting at: Senecio had suggested to have Quercus attending the meetings even though he knew he was far more experienced and calculating than the current queen of Cohdopia – so that had either been an act of goodwill, or an arrogant move made thinking he'd be able to fool him of all people. But for the latter to be true Senecio would have had to be a fool... and Quercus could tell he was not one.

Finally, he nodded. "Very well," he said slowly. "I will listen to whatever you say, and attend to each of these meetings. But if I as much _suspect_ you have a motive of your own you've not told me about, Your Highness, then may God help you. Have I made myself clear?"

The other man smiled. "Very. I did not expected any less from you. Now, I believe we've been talking in private for far more than we were meant to. Shall we head back to our respective quarters to rest? We have a few long days ahead of us," he added, gesturing towards the entrance.

Quercus gave a sharp nod, and they walked to the door. He spoke shortly before they walked through it. "For the sake of this country, Your Highness, I truly do hope you have changed into a better man in your old age."

Prince Senecio gave a low chuckle. "I like to think I have. After all, isn't that so for every man, Ambassador Alba?"

Quercus said nothing for a few moments, a faraway look in his eyes before his lips twisted into a weak smirk. "Not for all of us, no," was all he said before walking through the door and out of the Flower Garden for the last time.


	30. Yatagarasu

_A/N: sorry I took a while to update, I've been busy in the past few weeks._

* * *

><p>The days that followed were busy, for the matters to be discussed were many, but not as frantic as Quercus had expected them to be. Between each meeting there was time for him to rest – or, since he was rarely tired enough to rest in the afternoon, to walk around the Palace's grounds. After the first couple of days he had come to find Prince Senecio's company enjoyable enough; so was that of the Queen and Prince Delphinium, but they were both so young and, aside from current politics, there was not much for them to talk of.<p>

Being around his own age, though, Prince Senecio recalled many of the things that had happened in the country before their ruler and her brother were even born. One of such events was the war against Borginia – though of course Prince Senecio had no idea what had precisely sparked it; he had never known of the operation known as 'Casus Belli'.Quercus hesitated to tell him at first, but in the end he had seen no harm in it: by now no one would even care to look into the circumstances of Vulneraria's death once more, after all, and with both High General Durandii and Queen Luzula gone he was the only one to know the truth. Letting someone else on it couldn't possibly hurt anyone.

He told him one afternoon they were walking through the Royal Palace's courtyard, the same where he had stuff as a new recruit, the same where he had been proclaimed General first and High General later. As Quercus had expected, Senecio did not know of what had truly happened – and hearing about it made him absolutely livid.

"Had I known about this when he visited me that day," he said, his voice quivering with anger, "I would have killed that worm with my own two hands."

Those words caused Quercus to give a feral smile. "No matter, Your Highness; as you likely already know, someone else got that satisfaction. For shame the culprit was never apprehended. I would have loved to give him a medal myself," he added.

Senecio turned to glance at him, a shadow of a smile appearing his own face as his gaze shifted to the medals on Quercus' chest. "Don't you think it's possible that whoever is responsible for that noble deed already did earn themselves more than just one medal?" he asked, and Quercus chuckled.

"Perhaps."

There were a few minutes of silence as they walked up to the stairs leading up to the palace's entrance. In the end, it was Senecio to break it. "So we're even now, are we not? You know my secret, and I know one of yours. The only difference is that, while mine is a shameful one, yours should gain you even more recognition than you already got. But even without disclosing your role in that worm's death – why does no one in Cohdopia know the truth about the start of that one war?"

Quercus shrugged. "By the time this came out that war was long, long since over. It was no more than an old wound, barely soothed by victory. A wound we had no reason to open again; sometimes it is better to let the pus out when the patient is asleep and unaware, you know."

"But the people who lost loved ones in that war-"

"I lost my whole family in that first attack," Quercus cut him off, his voice sharper than he would have liked, causing Senecio to take a step back. "And knowing the truth did not soothe the wound, Your Highness. Ending Vulneraria did, perhaps, but once he died no one else could have the same comfort I drew from it, could they? No, they couldn't. The wound would be reopened needlessly. If I could choose I would still want to know, obviously, but sometimes there is truth in the old saying about ignorance bein bliss. This is all I'm going to add on the matter," he added, his voice making it clear he truly was no willing to discuss it any further. Simply put, he did not care: _he_ had known the truth and gotten revenge for _his_ family, and that was all that mattered to him. That every other relative of every other victim of that war or even that same attack would never know the truth was none of his concern.

Senecio seemed thoughtful, but he did not press on the matter and changed subject instead. "I must say these meetings and agreements are going more smoothly than I dared to hope, ambassador. It is a relief to see that the queen and her advisor see eye to eye with me when it comes to the issues in the Babahalese region, and are willing to work with us to even out the disparities. Although I must say that one of the greatest satisfactions I got out of this is knowing I could earn, if not your trust, at least your respect."

Quercus nodded. "Let's say I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt," he said briefly, but it was true that, until that moment, he had not been able to detect any second end behind Prince Senecio's words: his reasoning had been coherent with the ends he professed, his words carefully measured and his suggestions on how to improve the situation and gradually cancel out disparities sound. He was aware of the fact such a deep change would take time – they couldn't delete decades and decades of disparity in a matter of months – but optimistic on the outcome of the strategies they had agreed onto. Yes, he had been convincing even for him; which didn't of course mean he _wouldn't_ keep an eye on him. That was something Senecio did not need to know, though. Let him think he had utterly convinced him, Quercus thought before speaking again.

"Thank you, Your Highness. I'm glad as well that my prejudices on your intentions were soundly put to rest."

Senecio gave a small smile. "It's a shame you had not yet climbed all ranks to General back when I still lived here in the palace; I believe we would have gotten along well."

"I've long since learned how useless it is, indulging in 'what if' scenario. Do not wallow in what might have been. It never was," Quercus said somewhat bitterly.

Another long minute of silence passed. It was Senecio to break it – again. "As you likely know, I'll be back in Babahl in two days. Are you going back in the States, too, or are you staying some more? I'd love to have you as my guest. Many people in Babahl have no forgotten how you won us a war against Reijam with only a handful of men."

Quercus shook his head. He wouldn't have accepted the offer anyway – he did not think Senecio would have been foolish enough to try assassinating him while he was his guest or anything equally stupid, yet he'd rather be absolutely certain he had the man figured out before being his guest – but the answer would have been no even if he wanted to accept. He already had plans for the few more days he was to spend in Cohdopia before heading back, and while they did involve going in the Babahlese region it was not Senecio he would visit – but an aging woman living in a small village near the eastern border, one who had written him every month but who he had not seen for years.

Issoria, he thought, and tried to ignore the small stab of nostalgia in his chest. He knew he didn't quite miss her as much as what she had come to represent for him, but he still longed to meet again; to hear a monicker that grew less and less appropriate with each passing year, to see how the garden had grown; to smell again that scent of clean sheets and freshly baked bread he still associated with the abstract concept of _home_.

He had felt no need to go back there and meet her again for years – while in the States he was occupied with his duties as the ambassador and busy enough with the smuggling ring, and her letters had been enough – but now that he was back in Cohdopian soil it was different: he was reminded once again that she was old, more than a decade older than himself, and that he may have no other possibility after that one to see her alive. He may have no possibility to delude himself into thinking he was home again, and while he should be used to it – it had been forty-five years since the day he had lost the only true home he had known and he had spend most of his life without one – the thought was almost unbearable. That was the reason why he had planned on paying a visit ton Issoria those last few days he had to spend in Cohdopia, before he headed back to the States.

But that visit was not going to happen: the following morning he would receive a phone call requesting his presence in the embassy immediately, because something serious was about to happened and both Byrne Faraday and an employee called Deid Mann were just about to sign their own death warrants – and that of the Yatagarasu.

* * *

><p>It was the crack of dawn and Quercus had been awake for barely minutes when someone knocked the door. With a groan, he sat up on the bed – lingering in it for a few minutes before getting up was one of his few concessions to advancing age – and looked at the door. "What is it?" he asked, loud enough to be heard through the thick, heavily decorated wooden door.<p>

"Sir, there is a phone call for you," a voice reached him from the other side. "It's from the embassy. Your secretary says it's a very urgent matt-"

Quercus didn't bother to listen past the second sentence: he was already up and dressing just enough to be able to get out of the bedroom and into the spacious living room he had been given without causing the servant and himself embarrass. "Take the call on this line, keep him on hold and get out," he barked at the door, and could only hear a 'yes, sir', followed by steps. By the time he walked out of the bedroom, his mind reeling – what could have possibly happened? Had Coachen messed up? Had he misjudged his competence that much? – the servant was gone from the living room, and the phone's receiver was on the desk beside the phone. He took it immediately and brought it to his ear. "What is it, Coachen?" he asked, glancing around to make sure he was alone in the room. Yes, he was; there would be no need to watch his words.

From the other side, Coachen sounded breathless as though he had just ran up a flight of stairs. "The Yatagarasu," he managed, still panting. "T-the key. Faraday... he stole the safe's key."

"_What_?" Quercus blinked, completely taken aback. "When? _How_?"

"Only minutes ago," Coachen said quickly. "I barely had enough time to see him at the window before he escaped – but it was him, I'm sure of that. He even left one of their damn cards on the desk. And the key is nowhere to be found."

Quercus cursed under his breath. Not only that was unexpected, but it could turn out to be very dangerous for the smuggling ring. Not for _him_, never for him, but he wasn't going to let that worthless puppet cut the strings and undo his work. His mind fumbled to think of how that could have happened. Why had Chrysalis not warned them? She was supposed to know everything the Yatagarasu planned! That was her role! Had she betrayed him? It was possible, but not likely. Then could it be that she didn't know Faraday knew something was up with the embassy? Could it be that she didn't know he was going to pull that stunt? But why wouldn't he know? Had they guessed she was a mole?

But those were all questions that had to wait now, for he could not expect any reply from Manny Coachen: only Chrysalis could possibly give an answer. Now there was one question he could make Coachen, and one question only. "Did use it? Did he open the safe?" he asked. While he tried to keep the amount of potentially compromising evidence in the embassy at its minimum, the safe – identical to the one that had been in Vulneraria's office – was the place where they stored important objects, documents and orders. Had he managed to get his hands on those... well, damage control wouldn't be impossible, but a whole lot more complicated and more than a few heads would have to fall. Thankfully, Coachen's answer was the one he hoped to hear.

"He tried to, but he only opened the first door. There was nothing important in that section," Coachen said. "The back section is still locked, so he either didn't realize there was more to the safe or he didn't find out that the key can turn into a knife – and a second key. Or both."

Quercus let out a low hum, feeling a little calmer. With the safe's important contents still in their possession, they could still fix everything without any real losses. Of course, that meant he was due for a talk with Chrysalis – did she know of Faraday's plan, or did she not? – and that the Yatagarasu had to end: Faraday and Badd seemed to be getting dangerously close to _him_, so at least one of them had to go. Yes, that would be enough: kill one of them, take back Chrysalis, and the Yatagarasu would be over with. The one person left wouldn't be able to do anything against him anymore. He nodded to himself before speaking again.

"Very well. That makes everything easier. Call Chrysalis and ask her what in the world is going on: if she didn't warn us, chances are she did not know Faraday would pull this stunt; it is a matter of finding out if it's because he saw past her act and knows she's with us. He certainly would need at least a spy of his own to get in and know what key he should take. We need to find out who it is, and eliminate them. Needless to say, this has to be the end of the Yatagarasu as well. Contact me again as soon as you've spoken to her, and I'll give you further instructions. Is everything clear?"

"I... yes, sir," Coachen replied, but the brief hesitation did not go unnoticed.

"Do speak your mind, Coachen. This is hardly the right moment to withhold your thoughts," Quercus snapped.

"Well, I was thinking... have you considered, sir, that Chrysalis may have known of this? That she may have been the one to...?"

"To betray us? Of course I did. I'm no fool. I don't think it's likely, but nothing is impossible. Obviously enough, if it does turn out _she_ is the one who gave us away, then..." he made a meaningful pause, already knowing that Coachen did not need him to add anything to understand. If Chrysalis turned out to be a traitor, then there was no other way to go: she would have to die.

The memory of the small child he had carried away from a bombing and across a mountain range – a child with brown eyes and freckles just like Laureola, a child he had saved from the death he could not spare his sister so many years ago – briefly made it back in his mind, and for an instant before he chased it away he almost regretted involving in that business at all. Almost. Remorse was meaningless, remorse was from the weak. What was done was done, and there was no going back – only moving forward. All he had done was giving Chrysalis a great opportunity, one of those you can only have once in your life; if she had turned her back to it, if she truly had sign her own death warrant, then she would have no one to blame but herself when her death sentence was carried out.

From the other side of the line, Coachen cleared his throat. "Understood, sir. I'll contact her and get back to you as soon as possible."

"Do that. I'll be there soon enough: just give me enough time to catch the first plane," Quercus said. It angered him having to get back already instead of paying the one visit he had been aching to pay, but it couldn't be helped: he had to leave Cohdopia that very day.

_They will pay for this, too. Pay dearly._

The thought made him feel better. He smirked to himself as he listened to Coachen's questions.

"Should I tell the press something? There was no warning prior to the theft, and this is unusual, but it is possible he sent the usual message to the newspapers afterward, in which case the news would soon be known."

"Then we have to speak first; keeping quiet would only prove we have something to hide. Close the safe again, and pretend it was never opened at all. They must not focus their attention on it. Just say a thief made it into the embassy and stole a precious golden key. Do not say what it opens: let the press think it's simply a valuable decorative artifact from out country, one that opens nothing. The motif with the butterfly and the flower should help making it pass as such. Say nothing else about it. Pretend you do not know who the thief in question may possibly be. Keep your statements as simply as possible until I'm back. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll see you soon. Now hang the phone and call Chrysalis, then the police," he said, and hung the phone without waiting for an answer.

* * *

><p>Quercus' explanation to Queen Wilkiea, Prince Delphinium and Prince Senecio was brief: that a thief had stolen from the embassy and he was needed back there. "It is nothing especially urgent, but the Cohdopian Embassy is under my responsibility and it is my duty to go back now. I am glad this did not happen when there were still matters left to discuss. I wish you all best luck with putting the changes our country needs in effect; of course, this old man is at your complete disposal should you once again have a use for me – but I'm certain you'll do wonderfully," he added.<p>

None of the royals had seemed especially surprised by his sudden decision to go back; after all that he would want to be go back to the embassy after a thief stole from it in was perfectly reasonable, and they let him leave with no further questions. Before he left to head to the airport, Prince Senecio broke the etiquette by reaching out to shake his hand – a shake Quercus returned almost in spite of himself, his thoughts still mostly focused on the steps he would necessarily have to take to neutralize the Yatagarasu's threat.

"It was a pleasure as well as a honor meeting you, ambassador. I certainly hope we'll meet again soon," Senecio said, and for just a moment Quercus wondered if he really so wished to meet him again because of himself. But that was not it, it was sure: he probably wished to meet Quercus again because he had known his sister better than perhaps even her children had, the sister he had refused to even get to know until it was too late. To him, he was likely one of the last links he could have to a lost opportunity; and to Quercus... yes, he was a link to Queen Luzula, too – a chance to fix something between the royal siblings that Luzula herself could never fix. It was like that between himself and Issoria as well, Quercus mused: what was she to him if not the only link he had left to something he had lost and could never have again, something he could delude himself he could have back, for the briefest moment, only when in her presence?

Yes, he mused, that was exactly what it was like for Senecio as well; there was little difference. Except from the fact, Quercus thought with a hint of humor, that at least as far as he and Senecio were concerned everything was absolutely platonic. Thankfully. God only knew how he wouldn't have known how to get himself out of _that_ kind of mess.

In the end he pushed the thought aside and, with a hint of an amused smile lingering on his lips, shook the prince's hand back. "So do I," was all he said.

He couldn't yet know that those were to stay the last words he'd ever speak to Prince Senecio: next time he'd set foot in Cohdopia, the man would be dead and the country torn in two by a rift too wide for him to close.

* * *

><p>Once back in the embassy, Quercus was rather satisfied to see Coachen had handled everything well enough. The police didn't seem to suspect them of any wrongdoing – if detective Badd did, as it was certain, his thoughts did not seem to be shared by the rest of the department – and all they were interested to know was what the stolen key looked like and what it opened. Just as Quercus had instructed, Coachen had replied it opened nothing and that it was just a valuable artifact that held the symbols of Cohdopia.<p>

The press had been apparently harder to deal with: it appeared that the Yatagarasu had alerted several newspapers of the theft right after committing it, and while Coachen replied to their questions as vaguely as he possibly could without sounding suspicious, one journalist had downright asked if the Yatagarasu targeting the embassy had anything to do with the fact that Coachen himself had, only a few years earlier, stood to trial for the murder of the Amano Group scandal's witness, Cece Yew. If the reports Quercus read later were to be believed, Coachen had showed no hesitation at all: he had simply replied that he could exclude no hypothesis, but that since he had been found innocent of that crime it seemed a very far-fetched one to him. A perfect reply given without missing a beat, and the press seemed to have dropped the matter.

However, the press was hardly among Quercus' main concern at the moment: what was actually most urgent for them was retrieving the key, silencing Faraday and finding out who had given him the information he needed to know what to take – had Chrysalis betrayed them, or someone else in the embassy had known more than they should and chosen to speak?

Luckily enough, Chrysalis was able to provide an answer to that last question – that, and a _name_.

"_Deid Mann_? The head of out press and communication office?"

Good as he had become at hiding his emotions most of the time, Coachen sounded every bit as stunned as he had to feel. Quercus had to admit he was surprised as well: Mann had been the first embassy employee he had actually had a pleasant talk with when he had first arrived, and he certainly had never pegged him as someone particularly bright, let alone as a threat. Perhaps he had been mistaken.

His reaction, however, was far less impulsive than Coachen's: he merely raised an eyebrow at Chrysalis before speaking. "Are you certain it was him?"

She nodded, leaning back against her seat and lightly drumming her fingers on the surface of Quercus' desk. "I'm certain. Faraday clearly stated it was him to call. Mr. Mann seems to have seen something he shouldn't have, and apparently he's been looking at things he shouldn't look at for several months. He contacted Faraday abruptly in the evening, after the courthouse closed down, suggesting that there had to be some evidence on in the secretariat's safe. Faraday decided to act immediately without even warning me or Badd. I have to say that the detective was more than a little annoyed by it," she added with her usual smile, the one that was only one step away from turning into a laugh. "Faraday acted rather rashly. In case you were wondering, that is why I did not warn you in advance: I simply knew nothing of this until after it happened."

Quercus nodded. "I see," he said, his mind working quickly. That was it, then: Deid Mann had to go, and so had Faraday. Good thing, he thought, that everything important was stored in the safe's secret section... one whose existence neither Faraday nor Mann knew of. "Do you have any idea how much Mann told him?"

"I asked about that, yes. Mr. Mann didn't get into detail yet, but he's planning on giving an official testimony in a few days. On Thursday, most likely. I assume he has to go before then," she added, practical as always.

"That goes without saying: that fool has signed his death warrant. I need you to find a hitman to carry it on, Chrysalis. One who has no connection whatsoever to this embassy, of course: no need to make ourselves look more suspicious than we already do."

That seemed to take her aback, for she raised an eyebrow: the most evident sign of surprise she was apparently capable of displaying in his presence. "Me? I'm sure you can easily find a hitman without any risk for yourself," she pointed out.

Quercus chuckled and leant back on his seat. "You're assuming, are you not?"

"Assuming what?"

"You're assuming that killing Mann is all that we need to do. But it's not."

Chrysalis stared at him for a few moments, the nodded. "Of course, the key," she muttered. "It won't be a problem. I can take it back easily, and-"

"And you will. But that's still not all," Quercus added, his voice now lower and more dangerous. "Faraday came too close. He and Badd seem to be closing down on us – closing down on _me_ – and I can't have it. The Yatagarasu has been useful to us and certainly an amusing pastime for you, but pastimes cease being useful and amusing when they threaten to become dangerous. This has to end. The Yatagarasu has to end. Which mans the threat in it must be dealt with – with finality."

That truly got a reaction out of her: she reared back as though she had just been hit, her eyes widening for a moment before she regained control. "Are you saying that Faraday and Badd need to go as well?"

"Not both of them, no. Faraday is the real threat; it is him you have to get out of the way. Afterward, you'll return here. We'll give you a new identity and place you somewhere else," he added. He already had a good enough idea where to plant her as a mole next: Interpol was starting to get bothersome, and it was about time to keep an eye on it as well to make sure they didn't get _too_ close to uncovering the smuggling operation across the globe.

Chrysalis bit her lower lip. "This isn't necessary," she finally spoke. "I'm certain I can retrieve the key and make both Faraday and Badd direct their suspects elsewhere. There is no reason why we cannot-"

"What's the problem now? Are you afraid to act, _Ms. Yew_?" Manny asked sarcastically, spitting out her fake name as though it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Chrysalis glared at him, while Quercus merely held back a smirk. He could tell easily enough the reason of such viciousness: if Coachen had to make the sacrifice of killing someone he loved to prove his loyalty to the ring, why should she be spared the same - killing someone she had so clearly grown to respect?

In a way, Quercus supposed he was right: it was clear she did not _like_ the idea of killing Faraday, but he had to make sure she would do whatever she was ordered to do – no matter how unpleasant she found the task. If she proved herself the same way Coachen had, Quercus mused, then she truly was ready to be planted in the Interpol. Quercus turned back to Chrysalis, his eyes steely.

"I'm afraid that it's up to me, and me alone, to decide which steps are necessary and which are not. And, things being as they are, my order is to end Mann before he can testify, retrieve the key, kill Faraday and make your 'Calisto Yew' persona disappear. These are my orders. So, before I give you further instruction, do tell me – are you going to obey, or are you not?"

The implied threat clearly did not escape her. She stared back at him in silence for a few moment, not a trace of her usual smirk on her lips, but finally she nodded – slowly. "Yes. I am."

With a smile, Quercus nodded. "Very well. Now, the reason why you need to be the one to hire the hitman is simple: you'll also be his defense attorney. You'll need him as a tool to get to Faraday without being suspected or arrested, so he'll have to recognize you. Needless to say, he'll need to die as well. Here's what I want you to do..."

* * *

><p>While the plan hadn't gone exactly the way they had imagined – neither Quercus not Chrysalis had actually expected some rookie prosecutor to figure out who had murdered both Byrne Faraday and Mack Rell – it hadn't really gone wrong, either. Faraday was dead, so was Deid Mann, and the Yatagarasu was no more. That was all that mattered.<p>

Oh, of course it may have been troublesome had Chrysalis actually been arrested, but she was not... and, better yet, she had claimed to be the Yatagarasu before 'Calisto Yew' disappeared for good. With the other surviving member unable to tell the truth without compromising himself, the Yatagarasu's reputation was ruined for good and none of its previous claims and accusations had any meaning anymore; in a matter of a few days, any undesired attention on the embassy had faded and Quercus was ready to let Chrysalis out of there with a new appearance, a new identity... and a new mission.

"The Interpol," she mused aloud, her eyes – now an unnerving reddish color Quercus found hard getting used to – scanning her new documents. "It's quite a leap from keeping an idealistic prosecutor and his pet detective under control."

"Don't you think you're up for it?" Quercus asked, reaching up to stroke his beard. He faintly took notice that one of his plants needed to be moved into a larger vase.

Chrysalis – no, from that moment on her name was Shih-na – looked up at him from beneath short, blond hair that were so different from her own brown hair. Her freckles were no longer visible, perfectly hidden by careful make-up, and even her voice sounded alien, with an entirely different accent. She was, indeed, a different person; hadn't he known better, even he would have been fooled. "I do," she said quietly. "I will not fail."

And indeed, she wouldn't: in little more than two years' time she would made it near the very top of the team following the smuggling ring's trail. But Quercus would not get to celebrate that particular advancement: by the time it happened he would be in a country torn by its second civil war, once again walking the fine line between life and death.


	31. A Country Torn in Two

_A/N: wow, this chapter sure turned out a lot longer than I thought. I considered breaking it in two, but I couldn't find a good place to break it, so here's the whole thing.  
>Also, if you celebrate it for whatever reason (mine is chocolate eggs), happy Easter!<em>

* * *

><p>In the two years that followed, most of Quercus' efforts were directed to the smuggling ring; there wasn't much else for him to do, after all. Granted, Cohdopia was undergoing through some significant changes thanks to the joined efforts from the Queen, her advisor and Prince Senecio to heal the centuries old rift between the Allebahstian region and the less advanced Babahlese one. But that was hardly any of his business now: he was an ambassador to a distant country, after all. It was not his place to meddle with such matters, and things seemed to be going well enough for him not to bother worrying.<p>

Of course, the transition wasn't _completely_ peaceful: it was a slow one, it had to be – making it any faster than this after centuries of differences in all sectors was simply not possible without a miracle – but a fair share of people were not satisfied with that. The reason was clear: at that rate the change would be very significant for the next generation, at most for those currently still young, but a great part of the Babahlese adults would not see the greater part of it in their lifetime. Or at least until an older age, when the opportunities the new status quo would offer would be reserved to younger people; and so they kept making demands, expecting to obtain immediate benefits. Fools, the lot of them, Quercus thought – what they asked for was impossible and they were too dense to see it, eager as they were to claim it was all a great bluff and that the royal family was only taking time.

As someone who came from a relatively low class, even if Allebahstian, perhaps he would have felt more empathy towards them when he was still a foolish young man. But that young man had not yet faced all the hardships he had to face, all the dangers, all the work to climb ranks from being nobody to power. That young men knew nothing of life, even less of death. But the man he had become, the man he was now, knew all that very well. He had to fight every step of the way to get where he was – so what right did they have to _demand_ the benefits their ruler was working to grant their children? None, that was that. None at all.

Still, Quercus worried little about them: Prince Senecio had proved himself perfectly capable of handling the situation. He was charismatic and well-liked in the Babahlese region, and his authority and reputation were enough to keep those more radical, protesting groups a minority: for the most part, the people in the Babahlese region realized that the changes would take time and that long-term benefits was what they had to aim for for their children's future. Yes, Senecio had everything under control; by now Quercus was certain his intentions matched the words he had spoken when they had first met, and that his efforts with his niece and nephew to even out the situation in the two regions were going to pay off with no need for bloodshed – only reforms.

It was true, Quercus thought with some melancholy, that the years of great wars were over.

Little he knew that one gunshot was all it would take to make everything break apart into chaos.

* * *

><p><strong>Cohdopian Embassy, November 2013<strong>

When the news came, Quercus' mind was as far away from Cohdopia and its future as it could possibly be: he was intent reading a report from Chrysalis about the leads the Interpol had on the smuggling ring. And that was close to none: they knew there _was_ a smuggling ring, yes, and they could even track down a few people involved... but those were only small fish that knew next to nothing past their little role. Pawns that could be easily replaced; there was no reason to worry for their arrest.

Granted, in a couple of occasions there was one agent in particular – one Shi-Long Lang, and hell knew why something about that name sounded familiar: he could not remember – who had come close enough to tracking down some rather important contacts of the ring: apparently, he had realized there was a link between the ring's activities and the fake bills that were starting to circulate in Zheng Fa.

No damage was done only because Chrysalis had warned him on time, and he could anticipate his moves and place those people somewhere else; still, he had been... suitably impressed by the young man's determination and skills. Not to mention slightly worried. By the time he was done reading that last report, Quercus had no doubt: Shi-Long Lang was to be kept under strict control. From that moment on, 'Shih-na' was to do her best to become his right hand – someone he could trust and rely onto, someone who would always be informed of whatever he may find out about the ring... so that they would always be able to anticipate each and every of his moves.

Exactly like they had done with the Yatagarasu.

But those orders were going to have to wait: before he could even reach for his pen, a sudden knock – no, it was more like banging – at the door made him recoil. He glanced up with a frown. "What is it?"

The door nearly slammed opened, and there, in the doorway, was Coachen. It didn't take much to guess something was wrong: he was very pale, eyes widened. Quercus couldn't remember seeing him that unsettled since the day he had stood trial for the murder of Cece Yew. Something had to be very, _very_ wrong.

"What is it? What happened?" Quercus demanded to know, abruptly standing up.

Coachen drew in a deep breath before replying. "News from Cohdopia, sir. There is... things are..."

"For God's sake, just speak!" Quercus snapped, causing Coachen to recoil. The younger man seemed to make an effort to calm down before speaking again.

"The Babahlese region. A rebellion. Sudden, and very widespread. The High Command has declared the state of civil war."

For a few moments Quercus said nothing, because a part of his mind refused to even comprehend what he had just heard. "Civil war?" he repeated, as though those words were alien to him. "But... how? Prince Senecio said-"

"Senecio was murdered tonight."

"_What?"_

Coachen licked his lips before speaking. "He was shot once, in the back of his head. Details are scarce, but it appears he was shot while he sat at his desk."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Quercus was glad to know it had been a quick and painless death: he had respected the man, and wouldn't have wished him a painful end. But the thought was quickly forgotten for more pressing matters. "Who? Who killed him?"

"We do not know. Some people who were close to Prince Senecio claim it was a man from the capital, but did not name any names. They say he was killed trying to resist capture."

Quercus snorted. "How very convenient," he growled. "So this rebellion is due to the fact Senecio, the one who spoke for the Babahlese region, was _supposedly_ killed by-" he trailed off, the full implications of the situation finally dawning on him. He stared at Coachen. "Those people. They blame the royals, don't they? They claim this was their doing."

It wasn't a question as much as a statement, and he had been right: Coachen nodded again. "Yes. They claim that it was an assassin sent by the royals, and the people in Babahl... they believed them. They feared the royals family sought to undo all that Senecio had obtained for them, and... they rebelled, sir."

Quercus cursed under his breath before walking around the desk. "I want to get in contact with the Queen, Prince Delphinium and the High Command. Now."

"I'm afraid it's not possible. I was told they're holding council to decide-"

"NOW!" Quercus barked, causing Coachen to recoil and take a step back. He looked nothing like his usual calm, snarky, competent self at the moment: he was just a scared man watching from afar the potentially life-shattering events taking place in the country where part of his family lived.

"But... the High Comm-"

"_I _am the High Command from this moment on!" Quercus cut him off with something akin to a growl, not even caring to keep his voice down, uncaring if any of those who believed him an increasingly frail old fool heard him in that moment. "You _will_ get me in contract with them now, or God help you and _them_!"

This time, Coachen didn't even try to talk again: he just nodded and immediately ran back to his office.

* * *

><p>Coachen's first attempt at contacting the High Command was immediately successful: something that made Quercus scowl. Not because he minded the fact he was so important he could not be denied even during a council that was not supposed to be interrupted, or the fact his influence on the High Command was still so strong after years of ambassadorships – but because the fact they had taken the call right away was a worrying sign that they were desperate enough not to even try to save appearances and wait until the end of the council to speak to someone who was no longer supposed to have any power over such matters.<p>

As he had feared, they _were_ desperate. And, by the time the High General – a babbling fool whose name he didn't even bother to remember – was done explaining him what the situation was, Quercus could tell why: they were facing disaster, a civil war they could actually _lose_. The previous civil war paled into little more than a riot in comparison, and an extra danger was caused by the Babahlese people living and working on the Allebahstian region: in the years since the first civil war a great number of them had moved to live in the Allebahstian side, taking upon themselves most humble works – not to mention the young people who went there to study, and then decided to stay.

Like Daphne, he thought. Daphne was one of them: she had studied there, and was a practicing doctor in the capital. Now that the rebellion was about to be officially declared she, along with the other Babahlese people inside and outside the Allebahstian region, would be deemed as enemies and likely imprisoned. Quercus took a mental note of giving orders so that she would be safe from that retaliation and he'd be informed should anything happen to her, then turned his utmost attention to the possible solutions: the Babahlese side had control of the whole region or almost and was about to push into the Allebahstian one's borders, so, first thing first, they had to be stopped.

After barking his orders to the High General – where to place the troops, how to move, what strongholds they could not afford to lose – and being replied to with a rather satisfying 'yessir', Quercus demanded to speak to Queen Wilkiea. She was holding herself rather well, all things considered: she was shaken, yes, but perfectly aware of all that was going on, receptive to Quercus' advice and quick to think up solutions to several problems in the army Quercus pointed out. Perhaps she was more similar to her mother than Quercus had thought until that moment.

"My brother is working to gather more information," she was saying, her voice tightly controlled. "We'll update you as soon as we know more. We did not expect anything like this to happen. I... still can't believe our uncle is gone. And I can scarcely believe we are thought to be the cause."

Her last words were tinged with sadness, something that Quercus didn't fail to pick up. It reminded for a moment Queen Luzula's quiet grief when High General Durandii had died. He sighed. "If it means anything to you, Your Highness, I am certain it was not you to order his death."

"Thank you. It does mean more than you may think. My brother thinks he may have been killed by those of the most extreme fringes, the one who have been asking for armed rebellion for years. He thinks they grew impatient with how Senecio was handling everything and decided to kill him and blame it on us to use his death as a catalyst to the rebellion. Do you think... that could be it?"

Quercus nodded, even knowing she could not see that through the phone. "There is a very high possibility, yes. But we'll see to that later: even if we find out who actually killed him I doubt people will listen. Not until the war is over with. Until that moment, our only concern must be that of not being overwhelmed: they must not make it past the borders of the Allebahstian region."

"Of course. Ambassador Alba, I know this is unusual, but..." she paused and gave a weak chuckle. "Seeing how you already took charge of the operation, it would mean the world to all of us if you accepted to return and take the role of High General once again, to direct the operations until this is over. I don't think there is anyone here who knows war as well as you do."

For a moment, Quercus said nothing. The thought of being back to Cohdopia not as an ambassador, but as the High General – as a _soldier_ once again... it was indescribable. Despite how grim the situation looked, despite _everything_, Quercus suddenly felt twenty years younger: his heart was beating faster, anticipation humming in his veins; how long had it been since last time he had seen the battlefield?

_Years. So many, too many._

"I will be honored to, Your Highness," he said, and he was not lying. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, High General."

"I'll accept no thanks for doing my duty, Your Highness," Quercus said, and finally hung the phone. He looked up to see Coachen still standing there, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Are you... going back?" he asked, as though he could barely wrap my mind around the idea. But of course he could not: he was a civilian – what cold _he_ know?

"Yes. I have accepted to take the role of High General once more through this war, and will not return here until it's over with."

Coachen frowned. "I see. But what about...?"

"The ring? You will have to make sure everything runs smoothly while I'm gone. Keep everything going like usual: I doubt many people would connect a change of activities with the war, but one can never be too careful. Now, about you," Quercus added with a thoughtful frown, "you're of Babahlese origin. That may cause you a problem."

The thought caused Coachen to pale. "Do you think I could be treated as an enemy?" he asked, fully aware of the fact he was the only person in the embassy of Babahlese origin.

"You might if you were simply Babahlese. But you're not – you're also American. So no one who's not a complete idiot would act against you inside an embassy in the States."

"But they could still relieve me of my duties while you're away, in which case there would be no ringleader in place."

Quercus shook his head. "Not if I get a say in it – and believe me, I _do_ get a say in it," he said.

Coachen seemed relieved. "So you can make sure I stay your substitute, regardless the direction the war takes?"

"I can and will. It's the only way to go; depending on the outcome of the war we may have to make other changes, but for time being this will work. Also, do let me know where your family is. I'll make sure they're kept safe."

The younger man nodded and explained where they lived, but Quercus only half-listened to him: his thoughts were all for the war ravaging his country, and he could only wonder if he would be able to save it this time.

As it turned out, he managed to save a great part of it from the invasion – but, in that war, another part of it was going to be lost.

* * *

><p>Within the first month of war, it was plain as day that there was no hope to win back the Babahlese region.<p>

The surprise factor had played in the rebels' favor, and the advantage they had gained in those first, crucial hours was too great: the region was in their hands almost immediately, as were the railways, airport, industries and and resources they had gained in those two years of work. How ironic, Quercus had thought, that the resources they had received from the government as an effort to keep peace had ended up being used for war.

With the Babahlese region in their hands, they also had more men: most army recruits were Babahlese, and a great part of them had sided with the rebellion. When Quercus had arrived they had managed to break several miles into the borders of the Allebahstian one, and had almost succeeded into reaching the capital.

Almost.

The announcement that Quercus was going to lead the Allebahstian side in that war had had an effect on the troops' moral that Quercus himself had not expected: by then he had forgotten how popular he had been among the troops, and had no idea of how popular he still was. He was thus pleasantly surprised when the soldiers seemed to gain new strength at the news that they were being led by the most well known war hero of Cohdopia, and doubled their efforts. After realizing what effect his presence was, Quercus made a point of staying on the front lines any time he could, so that they could see him and know that he was there, that he was not going to retreat – and thus that none of them should.

Besides, Quercus had to admit he had _missed_ the front lines: life had been so unbearably dull for such a long time, after all. And all of a sudden he was there again, where he belonged: in the middle of a war, feeling twenty years younger and not even bothering to try keeping up his feeble façade at all.

The announcement he would lead the Allebahstians had an effect on the Babahlese troops as well: they respected him just as much, but also knew how many wars had won, and having him as an enemy caused them to fight even harder – desperate to break Allebahst's last defense and head to the capital before High General Alba could manage to organize a proper counter-attack.

But their attempt was going to fail: Quercus had seen many wars, more than any of the rebel's leaders, and he could anticipate each and every attempt they made with minimal effort from his own troops, turning the enemy's inexperience and desperation at his advantage – their attacks would always wind up with far more victims on the Babahlese side than on the Allebahstian. He bid his time as much as he could, letting the enemy tire out and trying to keep his troops as well-rested and fed as he could, even getting into a violent fight about the rations with part of the War Council to make sure the rations would not be cut.

"Cut rations to civilians if you're so inclined," he had said, his voice close to a growl, "but you will not touch my men's. If you think I can protect the lot of you and win a war with malnourished soldiers, you're even worse imbeciles than I thought you could possible be."

He had obtained what he wanted in the end – he always did – and he could keep his soldiers well fed, allowing them enough rest each. And then, when the Babahlese attacks began losing their strength, their soldiers tired and weakened, he struck.

The counter-attack was massive, and the Babahlese front was pushed back a few miles before it managed to put up an effective resistance. But by that point the Allebahstian side had stronger men with a higher moral, and the fact they were on Allebahstian ground meant that they could count on support from the civilians – something the Babahlese troops didn't have, not _there_. Few supplies reached the Babahlese men on the front lines. So, little by little, Quercus' troops began to successfully push them further and further back, away from the capital and then from their region – until they were back at the borders and then a mile or two into Babahlese territory.

And then they came to another stall: the Babahlese troops were determinated to make a stand and refused to retreat further, no matter the losses, for retreating would mean losing Babahlese soil. As for Quercus' men, they had given much and were too spent to effectively push the enemy very far.

No, Quercus realized, the advance was over for now: he needed to bid some more time, and see if the attempts at diplomacy would.

And it was during that stall that an urgent phone call reached him: the man he had ordered to keep an eye on Daphne was reporting that she had been arrested with the accusation of having taken advantage of the fact she was allowed to stay in the Allebahstian region to smuggle medicines to the Babahlese side and for having cured several Babahlese men who had refused to leave the region and were known to be aiding the rebels from inside.

Quercus may have appreciated the irony of that first accusation, wasn't it for the detail that both charges counted as treason in war time and thus could cost her the death sentence. What the hell had she been _thinking? _

_The reason why is not important now. What matters is what you can do about it. And you can do a lot._

True enough, he had thought, and had immediately demanded to know where she had been taken. Then he had called the officials in charge of the prison where she was being held and, after making it _absolutely_ clear what whoever split one hair from her head was a dead man walking, had told him that he would visit the next day and expected to be able to speak to her – alone.

After all, the war was at a dead point at the moment; he could spare a day to go back in the capital and find out what that reckless idiot had gotten herself into.

* * *

><p>"High General, sir! It is a honor to-" the official's words died in his throat when Quercus glared at him, looking all the world like he was just in the right mood for murder if only he got the slightest excuse to resort to it.<p>

"Where is she?" he demanded to know.

"Ah, we... she's in the lower floor. There is a large visitor's room there, where you'll be able to speak without being listened or interrupted."

"Good. Lead me there."

The man immediately nodded and did as he was told, escorting him into the prison. The soldiers inside stood on attention as soon as they saw Quercus passing by, but he barely acknowledged them.

"For your sake and that of your men, I truly hope she was not harmed," he spoke, the threat of horrible consequences impossible to miss. He did not think they dared to harm her after receiving his orders not to, but he did fear what may have happened before then: he was aware of the fact beatings and torture were nothing unheard of when the army got hold of a traitor who could possibly give them information to find other enemies. Things for a Babahlese woman caught aiding the enemy from inside the Allebahstian region could get very ugly very quickly in a place like that.

The other man recoiled. "No, no, of course not!" the official said said quickly. "No one did!"

"Not even before my order came?"

That caused the official to pause and swallow nervously before speaking. "No, sir, I really don't think so," he answered just when they stropped in front of a door.

"You don't _think?_" Quercus asked. His voice was now perfectly calm, and seemed to frighten the other man even more.

"I-I'm certain no one hurt her, sir. The men did try interrogate her, of course, to make her speak, but she said nothing and, well... she's a rather stubborn one, you see, and several of the men grew very frustrated with her refusal to... but threatening was all they did, I'm certain!" he added quickly as soon as he noticed Quercus' stare. "Even without your order we wouldn't have recurred to force! Surely not on someone in her condition. You have my word, sir!"

Quercus blinked, his stare fading into a confused expression. "Her condition?" he repeated, but his voice was too low for the official to hear him, as he was already busying himself opening the iron door. He stepped aside and nodded at him.

"You can go in, sir, and stay as much as you want."

Quercus nodded back, barely even listening to him, and the next moment he was opening the door and walking past it.

The room was large and rather depressing, with little light to speak of due to the lack of windows and the damp brick walls. There was a table near the far wall, a wooden table with two chairs on the opposite sides. And, on one of those chairs, sat Daphne.

She had looked up when Quercus had walked in, and was now staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, having clearly known the previous day that he would visit.

Quercus had seen there for the last time fifteen years earlier, when she was barely a teen; now he faced a grown woman, and the brown hair and green eyes were the only things he recognized immediately. She was sitting, so it was hard telling how tall she was, but he could tell that if she stood she would turn out to be relatively short. She was stocky, as her mother was: the sturdy daughter of the land of miners.

But at the moment, Quercus' attention was not focused on her face or built: all he could stare at was her noticeable bump on her stomach, which left no doubt over what the official had meant when he had alluded to her 'condition'. Either she was the only person in the country who could afford overeating in such hard times, or she was with child.

And somehow, the former theory didn't seem likely to him.

"Ambassador Alba," she greeted him, breaking the silence, and it didn't even occurr to him to point out that in that moment he was, first and foremost, the High General once again. Her head tilted slightly on one side, her amusement now plain. "Why, I'm honored. What do I owe the visit?"

Her voice finally snapped Quercus from his surprise. He scowled, marched up to the table and sat rigidly on the chair. "I'm asking the questions now," he said coldly. "What in the world were you _thinking? _Does this seem the right time for such foolishness?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow. She didn't seem especially impressed. "And what _other_ time should I have picked? Circumstances being what they are-"

"And you _had_ to pick the middle of a war?"

She blinked. "Uh... yes? That was kind of the point," she said, some confusion starting to show in her voice.

"The point?" Quercus asked, incredulous. "The point? What _point_, pray tell, do you think you'll make by having to go through war time like in this condition?"

Daphne blinked again. "Alright. _Now_ I'm confused. Are we even on the same page?" she asked. "I'm referring to what I did to wind up here. What are _you_ referring to?"

Quercus snorted. "The pregnancy, what else?" he snapped.

She seemed taken aback, then she scowled and folded her arms. "What about it?"

"What about it? Aside from the fact you're with child in the middle of a civil war? For heaven's sake, you're too young to-"

She scoffed, cutting him off. "Are you even serious? In case you have not noticed, I just _happen_ to be a working adult. So is my fiancée. Our deepest apologies for not _foreseeing_ a civil war," she said dryly. "Do enlighten me, how were we supposed to _know_ this would happen?"

Beyond even realizing that it was true, that she was almost twenty-eight, a licensed physician and _definitely_ no longer a child, Quercus blinked. "Your... what?"

"Fiancée."

"You have a _fiancée_?"

"A fellow doctor back at the hospital, yes. I didn't create this child parthenogenetically. Is it a problem?"

"Your mother didn't tell me anything about this!"

"I didn't want to tell her until—" she began, suddenly defensive, then she abruptly trailed off and blinked as well. "Wait just a moment, a_mbassador_ – why _should_ my mother even tell _you_ of something like this?"

Quercus scoffed. "That's beside the point!"

"And what _is_ the point?"

Now _that_ was a question Quercus didn't really know how to answer to. Eventually, he just sighed and leant back on his seat. He shut his eyes and reached up to rub his temples for a few moments.

"Very well," he finally spoke again, his voice calmer. "One thing at time. Who's the father? Was he arrested, too? Is he from the Babahlese region as well, or...?"

She shook her head. "No. He's from the Allebahstian one. And no, he was not arrested. I don't think they have any proof against him. But..." Daphne's voice faded, and she seemed to hesitate for the first time.

Quercus nodded. "I see. Was he involved with what you did?"

She glanced away, saying nothing. Quercus sighed.

"Daphne."

She recoiled a little when he called out her name, as though she didn't expect him to. And, to be honest, Quercus couldn't recall ever using it to begin with. But that was not the moment to think about something so meaningless, he told himself.

"You can tell me. I can grant you no one is listening to us, and nothing that could compromise you or this man will get past my lips. In case you have not noticed, I am here to _help_ you."

She hesitated for a few more moments, then she slowly nodded. "Fine. Yes, we both took care of wounded Babahlese men."

"But they didn't find him with you at the shelter, did they?"

"No. He had left to take some medicines. They have no proof against him and won't connect him to any of this if he keeps a low profile, but-"

"But you fear he may expose himself to find out where you are and what happened to you," Quercus finished for her. Good God, people were so incredibly _predictable_. "Is that it?"

"Yes."

A nod. "Very well. If that's the case, I'll make sure he knows that you're doing fine. Both of you," he added somewhat grudgingly. "Who is he?"

Daphne bit her lower lip.

"For heaven's _sake_, I already told you I won't let anyone know whatever you said to me!" Quercus snapped.

She frowned. "Fine. It's Dr. Ilex, from the central hospital."

Quercus nodded and took note on a sheet of paper that had been left on the desk, then he pushed pen and paper towards her. "Write him, and I'll have the message delivered to him. I'm certain he will be reassured more easily if he recognizes your handwriting."

Daphne looked at him for a few moment before speaking quietly. "Thank you," she said, and reached to quickly write something on the sheet of paper.

"Do not thank me yet," Quercus said, dismissively waving a hand. "You put yourself into quite the mess. This is officially a _war_, and aiding the enemy is still punishable with death. Do you even _realize_ that?"

Still writing down, Daphne chuckled. "I'm no idiot. Of course I do. But all I was worried about was the possibility of torture or death while I was held here. Now that I know you won't let that happen, I'm certain I'll be out of this."

That was Quercus' turn to be confused. "You are? You stand accused of sending medicines to the Babahlese side-"

"But they have no real proof of _that_ part, do they? They wouldn't have spent so much time trying to prod me into confessing if they truly had anything," Daphne said, still writing quickly. A quick glance was enough to tell Quercus what she was, indeed, writing was something along the lines of 'I'm fine, the baby is fine, don't do anything stupid'. Straight to the point, wasn't she? And very careful to write nothing that could possibly incriminate him, too.

"No, not for that," Quercus admitted, and he was thankful for that: it was one problem less. "But they did find you looking after those Babahlese rebels. They caught you in the act. The fact alone you allowed in the shelter people who were clearly enemies makes you guilty of treason as well, and by the laws of Cohdopia... why in the world are you _laughing_?"

Daphne didn't reply right away: she was too busy laughing, and for a moment she reminded him far too much of Chrysalis for his tastes. Quercus scowled, and he was about to snap at her to just stop laughing and explain herself when her laughter died down and she leant back on her seat, a smile still curling her lips.

"Well? What was that about?"

"I swear by Apollo, the healer, Asclepius, Hygieia, and Panacea, and I take to witness all the gods, all the goddesses, to keep according to my ability and my judgment, the following Oath and agreement," she cut him off, still smirking, and Quercus blinked in confusion before scowling again.

"Do not try my patience. There is a war going on, and I have no time for your games. Start making sense right this instant," he snapped.

Daphne sighed. "You had more patience than this when working on my mother's garden, though not by much," she commented. "But very well. What you just heard, ambassador, is the beginning of the Hippocratic Oath. Have you ever heard about it?"

"Vaguely. All I know is that it is an ancient oath meant for physicians and such. Guidelines for their work, I assume? Do no harm, was it not?"

"Among other things, yes. The oath is still used in several countries, Cohdopia included; it's modified and modernized, of course, with no amusing list of ancient gods to start off, but the substance stays the same, and so do many of the ethical guidelines we are sworn to uphold. Would you like to hear a couple of those guidelines?"

"If relevant."

"They are."

"What is it you've sworn, then?"

Daphne smiled. "That the health and life of my patient will be my first consideration, just to say one," she said. "I also swore to never use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat – another interesting one. And, most of all, I swore this," she leant forward, staring straight in Quercus' eyes, and quoted: "_I will not permit considerations of age, disease or disability, creed, ethnic origin, gender, nationality, political affiliation, race, sexual orientation, social standing or any other factor to intervene between my duty and my patient_."

A long minute of silence followed, and they just stared at each other through it. Quercus was rather sure he was starting to see where she was getting at. Still, he said nothing; it was eventually her to break the silence.

"I make these promises solemnly, freely and upon my honor," she finished, her voice quiet. "Cohdopia is among the many countries where this oath is taken upon becoming members of the medical profession. Those people were wounded and in need of help. I could not act any differently than I did without breaking my oath; the one this same country had me taking. What will I be accused of, then? Of doing my duty as I swore to do?" she asked, and this time there was a note of satisfaction in her voice, plain as day. "No, they will not prosecute me for this. They know they _cannot_. That's why they were so desperate to find proof I actually sent medicines to Babahl: without that accusation being proved, I'll walk out of here free."

Quercus found himself speechless for a few moments. "So," he finally said slowly, "what you're saying is that your duty as a doctor is what will protect you from prosecution? That your role is going to shield you form the punishment that would befall anyone outside the medical profession?"

Daphne smiled. "Precisely. I am no fool, ambassador. I wouldn't have taken such risks hadn't I known I was-"

"Above the law?" Quercus asked, his own lips starting to curl. Perhaps laughing now was not appropriate, but he couldn't help it: the situation suddenly felt so was so familiar it was wonderfully ironic.

"Well, that's not exactly how I'd put it, but-" Daphne began, only to trail off when Quercus actually began laughing. He paid no mind to her or whatever she had been trying to say: he just laughed like he hadn't in a long time, and it felt surprisingly good. Good God, he just _loved_ the irony. Even though that was simply a coincidence, for a moment he almost wondered what would Issoria think of that, if she would still have the doubts they both had over whose daughter Daphne was.

Finally, when his laughter died down to a chuckle, Daphne spoke again. "I think I missed the part where this is _so_ hilarious. Care to enlighten me?" she asked, but sounded amused nonetheless.

Quercus shook his head and finally cleared his throat. "Nothing in particular. You simply reminded me of someone I know."

"I'll bet."

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking aloud," Daphne said, glancing back down at the letter she had started writing, and Quercus chose not to pursue the matter – though he did wonder if Issoria had told her... if she had _told_ her. But then again, what would it matter if she had?

_Nothing. It would not matter._

"So," Quercus finally spoke again, more to fill the sudden silence than because he truly cared, "you think the people here know that you cannot be punished for looking after those rebels."

Daphne nodded without even looking up from the letter. "Yes, I'm ready to bet they knew that. They were simply hoping to scare me into admitting I had the medicines sent to Babahl, or give names of accomplices, or tell them where they could find other wounded Babahlese men. But I did neither, so they have absolutely nothing against me. Of course," she added, looking up and back at him, "things could have been different without your intervention."

There was a very serious edge back in her voice. Quercus frowned. "So you believe you may have been harmed to make you speak without my intervention," he stated. He wouldn't have been surprised, either.

"I'd bet my right hand on it. I've got to admit I was relieved to know you had stepped in. It was not only my safety I worried about."

Quercus' eyes shifted to her belly, and he nodded. He could hardly believe the woman in front of him, someone not too far away from becoming a mother, was the same child he had met twenty-five years earlier. "You must have been scared," he heard himself saying.

She let out a bitter chuckle. "I would have been a fool not to be."

"I see. You'll have no reason to be anymore. Add something to that letter – write that you're about to be released and that you'll be sent back home as soon as possible. Your mother's village is the safest place for you and... _it_ to be at the moment. I made sure it would be spared any heavy attack. If your fiancée is not a complete imbecile, he'll lay low until this... this madness is over one way or another, and it's safe for the two of you to meet."

Daphne nodded and wrote what she was told, looking amused for some reason. "It's a _he_."

"What?"

"The baby. You can shove- I mean, kindly take back that _it_, will you?" she said, but she didn't sound _really_ bothered. Quercus, on the other hand, was surprised for an entirely different reason.

"How can you tell?"

Daphne laughed, settling down the pen. "You see, ambassador, male and females happen to have a few anatomical differences. I could list one or two, if so you wish. Ones you might have heard about even without a medicine degree."

Quercus stared at her for a moment, then snorted. "Why, you don't say," he muttered. "What I'm asking is how you know it now."

She blinked. "You're serious?" she asked, clearly baffled, and Quercus got the distinct feeling he was missing something.

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Haven't you ever heard of prenatal ultrasound?"

"No."

"Oh."

"What is it?"

A smirk. "Technology is not your strong point, is it, ambassador?"

"Not that involving unborn children, no," he said, a little more defensively than he probably should have sounded. "I take it it allows you to know the child's gender before birth?"

"Precisely. And this one is a boy. At least it narrows the field; I'm a disaster at picking names. But I have an idea or two, I think," Daphne said, briefly looking up at him. It was a look Quercus couldn't quite define, but it was gone quickly: the next moment she was adding a few more words to her letter before signing it and pushing both paper and pen back toward him.

"How do you think this war will end?" she asked. There was a frown on her face that hadn't been there a moment before.

Quercus reached to stroke his beard. "It's hard to tell. Senecio's murder caught everyone by surprise, and that's the reason why the royals were not prepared for the retaliation. As things are now, the rebels from the Babahlese region – the people _you_ help-"

"You can spare me _that_," she cut him off, her voice suddenly sharp, and Quercus noticed that, in anger, she let her Babahlese accent show. "I will not feel an ounce of guilt for doing my duty. Especially since it's for the people of the place I _come_ from, where no matter your skill and intelligence – nine times out of them you wind up in the mines to dig out the whitecrystal oil the Allebahstian side gets rich with. Do you think I would be a doctor today had it not been for your help? Do you think I would have had access to any university _at all_? Think again, ambassador."

Quercus clenched his teeth. "I am perfectly aware of that," he pointed out coldly. "And so are the royals. So was Prince Senecio. They were working on it, but it would take time. You can't erase centuries of abysmal differences in a handful of years!"

Daphne tilted her head on one side. "So you don't think the royal family had a hand in the murder?"

"I'm certain they didn't. They had the best intentions, all of them. Whoever killed Senecio was not acting on behalf of Queen Wilkiea. Of that, I am sure."

"I see. You did not finish your answer, though. What's your opinion on the situation right now? I'm afraid I haven't had many news for the past week or so."

"As the royal family and the Allebahstian region as a whole was taken by surprise by the murder, they were also not prepared for the retaliation. It was a massive one: Senecio was much beloved, and pinning the guilt on the Royal family certainly made a catalyst for the rebellion. Even the people who were all for a peaceful reform would feel cheated and fear everything they were gaining thanks to Senecio himself was going to be taken away. I regret having been unable to have a hand in the operations since the first hour: the Allebahstian region is currently in a worse situation than in the first civil war. We managed to get the rebels out of this region's soil, but the Babahlese region is in their hands."

"So you believe Senecio was killed by the more radical groups in Babahl to spark the war."

"I didn't say that."

"But you think so."

A brief silence, then, "I do. What I wonder is what they hope to obtain. They will not win the way they likely hope for. If their idea is reversing the roles at the Allebahstian region's disadvantage, they must be complete fools: they could never gain complete control, and would lose what they gained so far. You have cured some of them," Quercus added, looking at her intently. "Don't you have any idea what their leaders may be aiming for?"

There were a few moments of silence before she spoke. "I believe they started out thinking they could actually take over the Allebahstian region, but they have come to realize that it would be next to impossible to maintain the new status quo should they manage. From what a few of those men said, I think they now plan on making the Babahlese region a country of its own. They think modernization will be quicker without the Allebahstian region and its own interests in the way."

For a few instants Quercus could only stare at her, incredulous. Tear Cohdopia in two? Was that truly what they were planning? Was that _it_?

"Madness!" he finally snapped, hitting the desk with a fist and causing Daphne to recoil. "This cannot work! The two regions on their own would be too weak to withstand any attack from outside."

She raised an eyebrow. "The time when you had to be on the lookout for outside enemies and their armies seems to be over in this side of the world, ambassador. A bit stuck in the past, aren't you?" she said a little sharply.

Quercus snorted. "They must be insane if they think they will get any advantage out of tearing this country in two. Cohdopia is one and the same, and-"

"No," Daphne cut him off, her voice so sharp that it made Quercus fall quiet in surprise. "There was no Cohdopia for a long time. There was the Allebahstian region, with the Babahlese one left behind. That the royal family wanted things to change was good, but there are things that are not so easily changed – a deeply-engrained mindset of superiority is much harder to uproot than anything else. I believe that Einstein once said it's easier to break an atom than a prejudice. He was on to something. As long as those in power in Allebahst keep thinking of us as the inferior idiots they helped out of their good heart rather than people who are only getting what is their right after being were purposely pushed behind for centuries, not much will really change. Out of two people equal in skills, the Allebahstian one will always be chosen. I've seen in happening, believe me. And I do not think the reforms alone will change _that_."

Surprise caused Quercus to be silent at first, then he scowled. "You can't be foolish enough to _hope_ for the separation to happen!"

"Of course I didn't hope for it, as I didn't hope for the civil war to start at all. In case you missed it the first time, my son's father happens to be Allebahstian. I lived here for almost ten years now; most of my friends are Allebahstian. I would have been far happier if nothing of this had happened, believe me," she said somewhat bitterly. "But things have come too far, haven't they? You can't end this war like you ended the first one. This one is much more serious, the rebellion too widespread. Maybe both countries need to be on their own for a time. I don't wish for lasting separation," she added quickly, clearly taking notice of Quercus' expression. "I bet no one with half a brain does. But if breaking off for a time, stretching our own legs and leaving you to see how you'd do without Babahl is what it takes to make the people in Allebahst – the _people_, not the royal family – stop seeing us as a burden who owes them everything, then maybe it will be worth it. And maybe, when we'll have one country again, it will be a fairer one."

There was another silence, and this time it was a long one. "Perhaps," Quercus finally spoke, "you may have a point. But it is a gamble, and you know it. Sometimes what is broken can no longer be put back together."

"Maybe. But maybe it won't be _Cohdopia_ we'll be breaking. Maybe we'd be breaking what keeps Cohdopia from being truly one in the long run."

"And what makes you think so?"

Daphne leant back on her seat and chuckled. "Someone once told me that sometimes you need to break the vase to let the plant grow," she said, her voice a little softer. "You were right, you know. That shrub grew wonderfully, in a way it could not have grown had it stayed in that vase."

Quercus opened his mouth to retort, but for a moment no sound came out. The memory her words evoked was sudden and unexpected, but not unwelcomed: that of an afternoon spent working in a garden under the sun, in a backwater village at the outskirts of the Babahlese region, with a small child in tow aiding him and observing his word with a thoughtfulness that did not belong to one so young.

"You have a good memory," was all he finally said. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"So I'm told," was the reply, and there was something in her tone that told him that the conversation was to end there. With a nod at her, he stood.

"It is time for me to go. This war will not wait for me, after all," he said, taking her letter. "I'll have it delivered to Dr. Ilex immediately, along with a warning to keep his head down until it's safe to contact you. I'll make sure all charges against you are dropped immediately, and that you'll be sent home as soon as possible. It goes without saying that you will not be harmed. And if you can take some advice, here is mine: don't put yourself in danger again."

Daphne smiled. "I can't really get myself in danger even if I wanted, can I? You already said you made e sure my mother's village would be spared by attacks."

"Then do yourself a favor and do not leave it. Keep curing whoever the hell you want, but _stay in the village._ If not for your sake, at least for your son's. Will you?"

A nod. "I will," she said. "And, ambassador?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Quercus gave her a somewhat distant smile. "You're welcome. I will not let you and your mother die in a war if I can prevent it."

_Not again. Not this time. Not now that I have enough power to keep you safe._

A weak chuckle left her. "I see. Thank you. Again."

Quercus barely heard her. Not quite sure who he had _truly_ been thinking of only instants earlier, he nodded and turned to leave. He opened the door, but then, right on the doorway, he paused. When he spoke again it was almost without thinking, on a whim. "Do you remember the tree house?"

"The tree house?" Daphne repeated, confusion plain in her voice.

"The one I built you. You were still a child."

"Oh! That one. Yes, I remember. What about it?"

"Is it still there?"

There was a slight hesitation, as though she was taken aback by the unusual question. "Yes, it is. Why are asking?"

A shadow of a smile curled Quercus' lips. "I was just wondering," was all he said before walking out, closing the door behind himself.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Daphne had been right. Mere days after Quercus' visit to her, as soon as it became clear that taking over the Allebahstian region would be impossible and any attempt would only lead to pointless bloodshed, the leaders of the Babahlese troops made their offer known: the end of hostilities and a gradual normalization of the relationship between the two sides in exchange for Babahl's independence as its own country.<p>

The decision was not easy, nor were the negotiations that followed. Of course not everyone was happy with he solution, but it was the only feasible one: both parts of the country had suffered in the war, the Babahlese people would not accept to be subject to the old government again and would rather opt to become a republic, and trying to force them under control would only result in bloodshed with dubious results.

Of course, that was going to cause issues that would need a solution. As many as the differences may have been, the two regions had been one country for a long time; there were many mixed families and countless people with mixed heritage, and it was going to take time for many, many people to stop thinking of themselves as Cohdopian and accept the new order of things. But at the moment, it was decided, peace and some stability were desperately needed; if separation, either permanent or not, was the price for it... so be it.

And so, with two signatures on a piece of paper, the Principality of Cohdopia was no more and two separate countries stood in its place.

The Kingdom of Allebahst and the Republic of Babahl.


	32. Palaeno

It took months before Quercus could even _think_ about going back in the States.

That a country's separation in two new ones would not be simple business was something he had known from the start: the amount of issues to solve – from the exact location of the new borders to the possibility of double citizenship for mixed families, passing through new laws, the decision of what the new flag would look like and pressing issues concerning the normalization of the relationship between the two newborn countries – was overwhelming.

He had also expected to be asked to stay and help with the transition: as someone who had been considered a Cohdopian hero and was currently deeply respected in both countries, he was one of the few people whose words both sides would be willing to pay heed to. He had expected to find himself in the peculiar situation of being the Allebahstian ambassador to both the United States _and_ Babahl until a new one was chosen for the latter role, and he had been ready to do his best to save all he could of what was left of the country he had known.

What he had _not_ expected, however, was that most of his trouble would come from a _damn golden statue_.

The golden statue of King Primidux, the first King of Cohdopia – and one of the few the country had, the succession having started to follow a matriarchal line right with Primidux's own daughter – had become the object of a very heated debate, with both new countries claiming it was in their possession.

The statue had been a very important treasure to Cohdopia, for much like King Arthur for England King Primidux had transcended the status of a mere historical figure to claim a place in Cohdopian legends. He was an important figure, the reminder of an ancient and gloried past, and his golden statue had been passed down through the royal line for a long, long time – almost an unofficial seal to each new ruler's authority, for the statue would be exposed to the public every time a new monarch was crowned. And that was likely one of the reasons why, despite being now a Republic, Babahl was desperate to claim the statue was in their possession: the prestige that came from being the side in possession of that statue was too great for a new, relatively poor country to pass by.

But their claims were untrue: of that Quercus was certain, for the statue had always been kept in the royal palace, in the capital, and the Babahlese troops had never made it that far into Allebahst. Still, the Babahlese temporary government refused to give in and kept claiming that one of their men had taken the statue, and that the one in Allebahst's possession was a replica made to cover up the episode in an attempt to avoid losing more prestige.

Quercus had tried to settle the matter reasonably at first, but things seemed to go nowhere at all: Babahl would simply not admit that their statue simply _had_ to be fake, and Quercus grew more and more frustrated with each failed attempt at being reasonable. Of course, his frustration also had to do with the fact that he also had to keep an eye on the smuggling ring, and on the situation back at the embassy.

Even though Manny Coachen's Cohdopian blood was from the Babahlese region alone – meaning that, when all was said and done, he would not longer be able to be his secretary – for now Quercus had managed to grant him a special permission that allowed him to carry on most duties on Quercus' behalf both in the embassy and for the smuggling ring. But everything was complicated by the plans on dividing the embassy in two so that both countries' ambassadors would be in it: that required moving a large amount of documents and goods into one side alone, and Coachen had to be very careful not to let anyone see anything more than they should in the process. Not only that, but there was the matter of deciding what to do with the central part of the embassy – it was eventually decided it would become a neutral ground and thus American soil – and then, of course, he was going to have to move the plants he had in the garden on only one side: he certainly was not leaving the plants he had so carefully tended to in the hands of some Babahlese bumpkin who likely knew everything of butterflies and nothing of flowers.

However, having to divide up the embassy was a blessing in disguise: Quercus knew that the special permission he had obtained wouldn't last forever, and that he couldn't keep Coachen in the Allebahstian embassy for long – but on the other hand he _had_ enough influence to have Coachen placed as the secretary to the Babahlese ambassador. That would mean that his second in command would not be too far away, would be able to meet him on the newly re-named Theatrum Neutralis and, most of all, would keep having an easy enough access to the Babahlese ink they needed to print the fake bills of Zheng Fa – one of the smuggling ring's most important assets.

All in all, no real damage had been done to the ring's activities: Quercus would only have to find new ways to make a few things work out the same way as before, that was all, and the fact Chrysalis was doing a good job at keeping Interpol off their trail would give him all the time he needed to do that.

Still, Quercus was rather tired of _wasting_ said time arguing about a statue. That was why, in the end, he convinced the royal family to simply drop the matter concerning the statue at least for time being: he had more important things to think about now, and he _needed_ to be back in the States before long.

"Let them keep claiming they have the real one," Quercus had told the Queen. "We know it is not true, and if they'll want to _use_ the authority the statue would grant them – _that_ will be when we'll prove them wrong. Until then, however, this diatribe is useless and cannot be settled: you know as well as I do that they will not let anyone but their own examine the statue in the possession."

Prince Delphinium had agreed with him, as he often did, and Queen Wilkiea had paid heed to their advice and decided not to pursue the matter any further for the time. She decided, however, that the statue was no longer safe in Allebahst; in the end, they settled for having it sent in the Allebahstian embassy in the States – where Quercus could always keep an eye on it. Quercus agreed, more to settle the matter than because he truly cared that much. And finally, after a couple more weeks, he was ready to go back in the States.

But, before he went, there was another matter he wanted to settle: he had a long-due visit to pay. Since he still was the temporary Allebahstian ambassador to Babahl, it wasn't hard for him to arrange that visit; the only difficult part was going alone past a certain point, with no security of any kind. But in the end he obtained what he wanted, as always – he would go alone, and that would not be an official visit. As far as Quercus was concerned, it was never meant to be.

After all he was there for a very, very private matter.

* * *

><p>Finding out that the village hadn't changed at all or almost since last time he had been there was a relief: not only because it felt comfortably familiar, but also because it meant his efforts to keep the area unaffected by war had paid off. On his way there he had seen many towns torn down by Allebahstian bombs in the attempt of stopping the supplies before they reached the Babahlese army on the border, heaps of ruins turned into mass graves like Dianthus so many years ago – but this village, the only place on Earth he could say held any personal value to him anymore, had been spared such horror.<p>

Issoria's house had not changed, either. The only difference he could see as he approached was that the paint on the walls was slightly ruined, but that was it. The garden was well-kept as always and, as Daphne had said, the tree house he had built so long ago was still in its place on the pine's branches, even though it showed a few signs of having been fixed. Only one thing seemed out of place: namely, a man who seemed to be in his late twenties leaning against the pine's trunk and munching on an apple. Who could that be?

"Good afternoon," Quercus called out, approaching the small fence that surrounded the garden. The man looked up, and nodded in greeting.

"Good afternoon. Do you need anything?" he asked, walking up closer. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man clearly used to physical labor. He seemed curious, but not unfriendly.

Quercus nodded. "I may. I know a woman who lived here – as far as I know, she still does. Her name is Issoria," he said, fully aware of the fact the young man wold certainly pick up his Allebahstian accent and not truly caring of whatever he may think of it.

The man blinked, then his face opened up in a bright smile. "Alba? Ambassador Alba?" he asked, sounding all the world like he had just met a friend he hadn't seen in a long time. For a moment, Quercus was taken aback; he had changed in civilian clothes exactly to avoid being recognized. Perhaps he should have taken in consideration the fact his face was likely widely known even there.

"That's my name. May I ask-" he began, only to trail off when the man went to open the small gate.

"Why, don't you stand there! Do come in!" the man exclaimed, gesturing to the house. "I bet grandmother will be glad to see you. My father would be, too – too bad he isn't here! He never shuts up about how you saved this place and all. And now he won't shut up on how you saved my aunt and my little cousin. That was amazing, I tell you. We were all worried sick and... ah. Heh. I'm talking too much, aren't I?" he added with a laugh when he noticed the way Quercus was staring at him. "Sorry, I got a little carried away. My name is Thymelicus, sir. I'm Issoria's grandson. Well, one of the several. Danaus' son," he added. "He, uh, still is sorry for calling you a bastard, sir."

Quercus faintly remembered reading both names in Issoria's letters at some point, and then the distant memory of a young boy insulting him when he thought he was about to abandon the village to its fate, all these years ago. He chuckled at the memory. So that was that boy's son? My, how time had passed. "It's quite alright. Too much time has passed to dwell in it. I take it you're here to help her?"

"Yes. She's starting to feel her age, and we're so many we don't mind taking turns to help her out."

"So I see. Is she home right now?"

"Oh, sure! She was knitting until ten minutes ago. Want me to tell her you're here?"

Quercus shook his head. "I'd rather go in by myself, if you don't mind. We've been friends for a long time, and we haven't met in ten years," he said.

The man nodded. "Oh, sure. Door's open," he replied, and Quercus gave him a quick nod of thanks before hurrying to the door as much as he could without running, so that the man couldn't start babbling again.

The inside of the house was just as familiar as its outside: very few things had changed. Quercus silently walked past the small corridor and inside the living room and there, on her usual armchair, sat Issoria – apparently asleep, with her head tilted on her shoulder and a half-finished baby blanket resting on her lap.

Quercus had not seen her in a long time, and it was with a sinking feeling of helplessness – something he was no longer used to – that he saw how unkind those past ten years had been to her. She was in her late seventies now, not too far away from turning eighty, and all of her hair was snowy white by now. The lines and wrinkles on her face had deepened so much that, had he met her in an unfamiliar setting by chance, he may have had trouble recognizing her. He knew from her letters that walking was more and more difficult for her, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of the wheelchair beside the armchair; she had never told him her problems had gotten that far.

Stunned as he was by the sight of the armchair, Quercus did not realize she had awakened until she spoke.

"Young old man. I see you could find your way into this new country, after all."

Quercus recoiled, turning to look at her, and he was almost ridiculously relieved to see that her eyes had not changed at all: age may have damaged all the rest, but the eyes had been spared and were still clear and warm as ever. And her voice had not changed, either. Almost without realizing it, Quercus smiled.

"I don't think I even need to point out how little that old monicker fits me now," he said.

She smiled as well. There were a couple of teeth missing, but she looked so much more like the person he knew now that she was smiling that he barely even took notice. "You still are younger than myself."

"But not _young_ by any means anymore. My own hair is completely gray and will soon be white as yours. Twelve years are nothing now."

She shook her head. "But I can already see that the passing years are kinder to you than they are to me," she pointed out. "And, speaking of kindness, I owe you my thanks. We all do – me, Daphne, and my grandson."

"It was nothing."

"Are two lives nothing?" she asked softly.

Quercus shrugged. "It depends on whose life it is. I heard she's practicing medicine again," he said instead.

"That she is. There is a great need for doctors in our new capital. That is why she's away. She had to leave the child in my care for time being, but I know she has plans on taking him with her and his father soon. They plan on marrying; that will gran them all double citizenship, and Daphne says it will make everything easier. And the child already has it, doesn't he? The double citizenship, I mean."

He nodded. "She's right on both accounts, yes. So she already gave birth?"

Issoria smiled, a soft kind of smile that was reserved to her family alone. "Last month, yes. To a healthy boy. Do you wish to see him?" she asked. She looked past him, to a corner of the room, and Quercus turned to follow her gaze. And there, on the left of the door, was a crib. It looked rather old and had certainly been used more than once, but was still in good enough condition. Quercus approached and looked in.

He had not seen a newborn in a long, long time; he couldn't tell precisely how long, but his sister Laureola had probably been the last. The tiny slumbering form in the crib seemed almost alien to him, so defenseless it actually made him uncomfortable. The child was on his back, eyes peacefully closed and a thumb stuck in his mouth; another tiny, pink hand lay next to his head – a small head covered with feather-like brown hair.

"You can speak if you wish. He doesn't wake up easily," Issoria spoke from behind him, causing Quercus to almost wince. He reached to touch the baby's free hand, carefully – he truly did not want to awaken him and have to deal with a squalling child – and chuckled when that hand instinctively curled around his finger. The grip was surprisingly firm.

"He's strong," Quercus commented approvingly.

"Then his name truly fits him," was Issoria's reply. Something about the way she had spoken caused Quercus to frown, his gaze still on the child.

"What's his name?"

"One you know well, young old man."

Quercus blinked and turned to her, his finger slipping away from the baby's grip. The child squirmed, but did not wake up. "One I know well?" Quercus found himself repeating.

Issoria had resumed knitting while he was turned to the crib. Her fingers moved quickly, expertly, and did not slow down when she looked up at him and smiled. "His name is Quercus Ilex."

In retrospect, perhaps that shouldn't have really caught him by surprise: he did remember the odd look Daphne had given him only months before, when she had stated she had 'ideas' when it came to choosing her son's name. But in that moment he truly had not expected that answer: as far as Quercus was concerned, that name was his own – that other people could share it had never even crossed his mind, let alone something small and completely defenseless such as a newborn. "Quercus," he heard himself repeating. "Who...?"

"Daphne chose it. The child's father agreed immediately; he knows how much they both owe you," was Issoria's reply. She paused her knitting again, tilting her head a little to one side. "I hope that doesn't sit ill with you, young old man."

Quercus shook his head. "No, not at all. I simply did not expect it."

"So I see. Perhaps she was not good at showing it, but Daphne is truly grateful for that you did for her. For them," she added, gazing back at the crib.

With a nod and one last glance at the sleeping newborn, Quercus walked up to her again and sat onto an armchair just beside hers. "Is that the only reason?" he inquired.

The look Issoria gave him seemed genuinely confused. "What do you mean by that?"

Quercus hesitated for just a moment, then he set his jaw. So many years had passed since Daphne's birth and the death of Issoria's husband that it seemed futile avoiding the issue any longer. "What I wonder if whether or not you told her that your late husband may not be her father after all," he said. Whether Daphne and her child were of his blood or not mattered little, but he did wonder if she was even aware of that possibility.

Issoria shook her head. "No, young old man; I never addressed the matter with anyone, least of all in her presence. As for her... she may have wondered, yes. But she never asked."

"Never?"

"Never."

There was a brief silence, only broken by the clicking noise of Issoria's knitting. There wasn't much they had to talk about – through the years Issoria had let him know everything that was going on in her quiet, ordinary life through her letters, and Quercus could think of little if what he did in the embassy that would be of any interest for her – but the silence was not uncomfortable. It felt soothing, really, just sitting there with someone with no need for words. Quercus glanced once again at the crib, then at the door.

"I met one of your grandchildren outside," he finally spoke. "Thymelicus, as he said he was called. He told me he's looking after you for time being. I must say I lost count long ago of your grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You must have a small army of your own by now."

Issoria chuckled. "Oh, I do lose count myself sometimes. I believe I have... yes, with little Quercus it's eight grandchildren. And four great-grandchildren so far, with one other granddaughter expecting her firstborn. How odd to think that both Daphne and her child had nieces and nephews before they were even born," she added, clearly amused. "Then again, I had my sons very early and my daughter very late. It's not surprise."

"I hope none of your relatives was killed in the war."

Her smile faded slightly. "None of my direct relatives did, but a granddaughter lost her fiancee. They were to get married soon, but the war changed everything."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be, young old man. Aporia is young and strong; she will mourn him and then move on with her life. That death was not one you could have avoided; you already saved many lives of people I know. Or am I to believe you didn't have hand in the fact this area was never targeted by your planes?" she added, looking at him. The corners of her mouth were slightly curled in a knowing smile.

Quercus gave a small smile of his own. "I may have," was all he said.

"Then I once again owe you."

"You owe me nothing," Quercus said, a little more sharply than he had meant to. His gaze fell on the baby blanket she had been working onto. "You're happy," he finally said. It wasn't a question: it was a statement.

A nod. "I've always been," she simply said, and a moment later a wrinkled hand was resting on his cheek. "But you haven't been for such a long, long time," she added, a mournful note in her voice.

Quercus smiled bitterly and reached up to cover her hand with his own. "You were right from the start. Nothing was ever _enough_."

She gave him a somewhat pitying glance, one Quercus would not have accepted form anyone else in the wold, but before she could say anything there was a sudden, wailing noise coming from the crib. The child was not crying, not quite, but it was clear that was the first warning before he began screaming. Issoria sighed, taking her hand off Quercus' cheek. "Would you mind?" she asked, tilting her head to the crib.

Quercus just nodded, stood and walked up to the crib in silence. The baby was awake and squirming now, eyes of a yet undefined color looking up at the ceiling. His little face was scrunched in a grimace, skin reddening, and he gave another wail when he saw him. Fervently hoping he didn't need to be changed, Quercus reached to pick him up after a moment's hesitation. The last newborn he had ever picked up was Laureola when he was only twelve himself, and the memory was blurred and distant as a long-faded dream – and it definitely showed, for the baby squirmed uncomfortably as soon as he was in his arms and his wailing rose in volume. His discomfort turning into something way too close to _worry_ for Quercus' tastes, he quickly walked back to Issoria. She chuckled at the sight, but did not comment on the way he had picked up the child and just took him in her arms.

She was by far more experienced than he was, and in a matter of moments she had the baby cradled in the crook of her arm, rocking him slightly. She murmured something Quercus didn't quite hear and the infant looked up at her, his wail fading into a gurgling noise. His right hand gripped the fabric of his grandmother's shawl, and the other one found its way back in his mouth.

"Here, here. Much better," she said softly. The baby – Quercus could not call him with his _own_ name – stared up at him for a few more moments, as though surprised to see her there, then looked at Quercus, back at Issoria and finally decided that sucking his thumb and yanking at her shawl was a far more productive way to pass time.

As soon as it became clear they child had calmed down, his attention now taken entirely by Issoria's shawl, Quercus breathed a little more easily and sat once again. "So he didn't need anything, after all," he said, some annoyance showing in his voice.

"He awoke and could see nobody around him. That's why he wailed. Newborns are like this," Issoria explained, suddenly sounding all the world like a teacher explaining the basis of a subject to an especially dense student.

"I'll take your word for it," Quercus said drily. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered an infant Laurie crying at night – often solely because she woke up and didn't want to be on her own – causing their parents, and sometimes even himself and his older sister, to get up and try to calm her down.

"We'll have our revenge when we both have kids of our own and she will have to babysit them," Eclipta had once commented after the third sleepless night in a row, and Quercus had laughed at the idea and said that yes, it really would be the perfect revenge.

But no such thing had ever happened: there were no children, no babysitting, no laughs. None of it.

"Young old man?"

Issoria's voice and snapped Quercus from the sudden, unwelcome memory. He grimaced. "I'm fine," he said, and looked back down at the baby. The sound of his voice seemed to have attracted his attention, for he was squirming and trying to look up at him, eyes narrowed against the light coming from the old chandelier above them. Quercus instinctively raised an arm to shield him from the light and, as the baby blinked up at him, a sudden thought occurred to him – that he could stay if so he chose. In that exact moment he was the Allebahstian ambassador to both the United States and Babahl; if he wanted to he could choose to forfeit the former role rather than the latter like he was assumed from the start he would do. He was certain the royal family would not object. He could control the smuggling ring from there, too, and he would never be too far away. In its own way, it was almost tempting. But...

Quercus bit on his tongue, his gaze darkening. No, it wouldn't work: keeping the ring big as it was from a small country such as Babahl wouldn't be possible without some serious changes in its workings, changes that would likely not escape the Interpol – no matter how good Chrysalis may be at covering their tracks. Unless he left an ever bigger part of the operations in Coachen's hands, but he hesitated to do so: not because he didn't think he would be able to handle it, but because he simply was not going to give anyone that much power in _his_ smuggling ring without him being able to watch them closely.

It was a risk he was not willing to take: he would not let his work of years be undone or taken from his control because... why? Why would he want to do that? He was no longer one to take pleasure in simple things; that was not his life, this was not his family and would never be. No, it wouldn't work. It couldn't; his was only a moment of wishful thinking, and he knew he would regret it if he even tried to go through with it.

A gurgling noise snapped Quercus from his thoughts. He recoiled and looked down at the baby again. He was staring up at him, eyes wide open and almost a whole fist stuck in his mouth. A bitter smile twisted Quercus' lips. "The name may be the same, but I hope he'll have a very different life than the one I had," he finally head himself saying.

Issoria nodded, giving him a sad smile. For one insane moment, Quercus almost thought she knew exactly what had just crossed his mind. "So do I," was all she said, and for a while neither of them spoke.

After that one time, they were not going to meet again until six years later – when one of them would be only hours away from death.

* * *

><p>"Wasn't the meeting supposed to start twenty minutes ago?"<p>

Even though Quercus had kept his voice quiet – he had to, for more now than ever before he needed to be considered a harmless old man – the man he had spoken to recoiled as though he had shouted. Quercus had to admit it was rather satisfying having that effect on even another embassy's workers with no effort at all.

"I... I'm sorry, sir. I'm certain the ambassador will be here shortly," the man said, his gaze shifting across Theatrum Neutralis, unease plain on his face.

Quercus held back from muttering that he had _better_ be there shortly and gave a somewhat mournful sigh instead. "Or perhaps he doesn't have time to waste on an old man," he said, barely holding back a smirk.

The man immediately shook his head. "Oh, no, sir, it's not like that at all. Ambassador Palaeno has the utmost respect for you, believe me. He was actually very eager to meet you. Something must have kept him."

Quercus blinked. Until that moment he had not truly bothered to pay attention to what the man's name was – he was to meet him once back in the embassy in any case – and he was completely taken aback by how eerily familiar that sounded. "Palaeno?" he repeated, but his voice was covered by the door suddenly slamming open and the voice of someone clearly almost entirely out of breath calling out.

"Sorry! I got lost! So sorry! This embassy is _huge_, isn't it?"

Quercus turned, and found himself staring at a ghost from the past. Or more than one, for the tall blond man in his early thirties he found himself staring at resembled _both_ Papilio and Antheos Palaeno – two brothers by whose side he had fought in different times, and with different outcomes. As he stared, the man drew in a few deep breaths, then looked up at him and smiled a somewhat goofy kind of smile that was as eerily familiar as his appearance. "Ambassador Alba! It's such a pleasure getting to meet you!" he exclaimed, walking up to him and holding out his hand, still panting a little. Quercus did not reach back for it and just stared at the man in quiet disbelief.

"I'm sorry," he finally heard himself saying, "but I'm afraid I didn't quite catch your name."

"Oh! Oh, right. Didn't introduce myself, did I? My name is Colias Palaeno, and I'm Babahl's new – well, first – ambassador. It's such a honor to meet you! I heard so much about you," he added, still smiling brightly.

"I see. You'll have to excuse the question, but do you happen to know a man called Antheos Palaeno?"

The man laughed. "I do alright! He's my father, you see. You fought together against Reijam, didn't you?"

His son? That made him also Papilio's nephew. Quercus had to admit that made sense: after all he was everything like both of them: tall, blond, with bright eyes and dark skin, an almost unsettingly wide smile... and overly eager to please, form the looks of it. Yes, it all fit scarily well.

"Oh, and before I forget!" Palaeno exclaimed with a light smack on his forehead, snapping Quercus from his thoughts. "I brought you a gift! Well, kind of. As in, nothing official, but just something personal, you know?" he added, producing a pile of colorful paper from apparently nowhere.

Quercus blinked. "Are those...?"

The man's smiled widened; he looked absolutely delighted for some reason Quercus couldn't fathom. "Coupons!" he exclaimed, as though he had just declared he was gifting him a reunited Cohdopia's crown.

"Coupons," Quercus found himself repeating, deadpanned. Palaeno gave another bright smile, not even acknowledging his flat tone. With most people, he could have suspected they were faking such affability and admiration to make him lower his guard; with a Palaeno, however, it was a different kettle of fish.

"Yes! So that you can travel in our beautiful country any time you like. You'll be most welcome there!"

Biting back a retort on just how _well_ he knew that place, Quercus forced himself to smile and nod. "I'll most certainly take advantage of your generous offer, then," he said, gesturing for one of the men to take the coupons and taking a mental note to keep some to put them between his plant vases and his wooden desk.

"Good! I'm sure you'll love it. It's such a beautiful place it's a shame it's not getting tourists, you know. I want to put a remedy to that by promoting tourism in Babahl!"

"So I see," Quercus replied, then blinked when Palaeno's expression suddenly sobered and he looked straight at him. He now looked so serious that for a moment Quercus thought he was looking at Corporal Antheos Palaeno again, while they were working on a strategy that would allow them victory against impossible odds.

"You know, my father also told me you halted his execution during the first civil war," Palaeno said, his voice now as serious as his expression. "That is why wanted to thank you personally; some of my friends lost a parent or both during that war, while I could grow up with both of mine. Oh, and as a sign of gratitude, why don't you accept these as well? Coupons for our best restaurant at a very low price!" he added, handing him some more coupons. The overly eager smile was back on his face, and Quercus realized he probably shouldn't get _too_ used to Colias Palaeno's serious moments. He nodded and gestured for someone to take those coupons as well.

"I'm glad I was able to help him; he was a valuable asset in the fight against the army of Reijam. Do tell, was he involved in the civil war as well? I certainly hope he was not harmed. He's alive, is he not?"

Palaeno nodded. "Oh, yes! He's alive and well, thank you! He didn't _really_ get involved, since he's rather old, and he wasn't really happy when my cousins talked me into joining the Babahlese new army. I didn't last long on the training camp, though," he added with a laugh. "I had a, uh, a little accident with firearms."

"An accident?" Quercus repeated, faintly wondering if that oaf was the responsible of an explosion that had destroyed a large number of ammunition in the Babahlese region while the war was still going on.

The younger man gave a sheepish grin. "Oh, it was nothing too serious! I just, er, forgot that my gun was loaded. By the time my foot had healed enough to resume any training, the war was over."

It took all of Quercus' willpower not to openly stare at him like he had just smelled something bad. For God's sake, how had someone incompetent enough to _shoot his own foot_ made it to ambassadorship?

All of a sudden, Coachen's odd attitude when he had come back made sense. Upon his arrival at the embassy, Quercus had expected to find Coachen overwrought after having to take his place both for his duties as the ambassador and as the ringleader. He truly had. He had also expected him to be worried over having to come up with a strategy that would allow them to keep their usual business going behind the new ambassador's back and while being in two different sides of the building. But he had not expected him to be desperate – literally _desperate_ – at the idea of having to become the Babahlese ambassador's secretary.

"You'll have to see for yourself, sir," was all he said when Quercus tried to ask why, looking all the world like he had just had to swallow a lemon. And he _had_ seen – oh yes. All of a sudden, it was very clear to Quercus that Coachen's role was no longer going to be that of a secretary: he would become something akin to a babysitter. And, while on one hand it would certainly work for them – Palaeno would never suspect a thing, of that he was certain – it was no wonder Coachen was less than thrilled by what awaited him.

* * *

><p>"Isn't there <em>any<em> way around it, sir?"

Coachen's question was far from unexpected: he had been asking it over and over again in the past couple of days. And to be honest, it was starting to get on Quercus' nerves. Taking notice of how he wasn't yet done putting his belongings away – unusual, for someone efficient like him – Quercus shook his head.

"I'm certain there isn't, no. Your Cohdopoian ancestry was from the Babahlese region, and thus you're now both American and Babahlese – but not Allebahstian. I could keep you here in my stead until now, but you cannot stay now that I am back. I might bend rules even that far, but then someone may wonder why and we cannot draw any unwanted attention. Besides, your position in the Babahlese embassy would allow access to their ink. We need it to print the fake bills," he added, a bit of a vicious satisfaction in his voice.

While until that moment he hadn't had any particular reason to despise Zheng Fa – not in a long time, at least – now he had a reason to: despite agreements of helping the Cohdopian royal family in case of danger, both external and internal, Zheng Fa had not moved at all to help when the civil war had started. Not only that, but the country had been eager to get ties to the newborn Republic of Babahl as soon as its independence was declared; so, as far as Quercus was concerned, Zheng Fa had picked a side... and it was the wrong one. So let them drown in fake bills: all the more gain for him, and a fitting punishment for them.

Unaware of his musings, Coachen sighed. "I suppose," he said. "But sir, when will I know—"

A sudden yell coming from the front window cut him off. Both Coachen and Quercus turned to its source, out of the secretariat office's window, and they could see Palaeno at the window across them.

"IS MANNY THERE?" he shouted, waving his arms. "THERE WAS AN ACCIDENT WITH THE INK! I'M SORRY! I'LL CLEAN IT UP!"

Quercus sighed and just nodded at him before drawing the curtains closed and looking back at Coachen. "Do you want to drink something?" he found himself asking.

Coachen slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Something strong," he murmured, and followed Quercus to his own office. The liquor Quercus had to give him _was_ rather strong, but he drank like it was water. It occurred to Quercus that maybe he should help him seeing the bright side before he drank himself into a coma.

"The fact he's such an oaf will come to our advantage. If he's half the fool he looks like – and what the source of his genes, I'm inclined to believe he is – we'll find a way around the problem rather easily. But before we do anything, we should wait for things to settle… and for you to get to know him well," Quercus paused, then, "you may keep the bottle."

Coachen made a face. "Thank you, sir," he said hoarsely before taking another swig of his drink, and seemed about ask something else – but a noise that sounded much like a mild explosion cut him off.

A mild explosion followed by a much-dreaded voice coming from the open window of Quercus' office.

"Sorry! Sorry! I just wanted to try the fireplace…!"

"For heaven's sake," Quercus growled, reaching up to rub his temples.

Coachen said nothing and just emptied his glass.


	33. Betrayal

_A/N: well, it took MONTHS, but here's another chapter. Sorry it too me so long: on one hand I got distracted by other fandoms, on the other so many things happened in the past few months (got a job, had a serious scooter accident, was accepted in a postgraduate course in London, actually moved to London... stuff like that) that I was simply never able to sit down and focus on this again. Anyway, now that I'm back on track there isn't much left to the end: the next chapter will cover the events of Turnabout Ablaze, and then there will be only the epilogue. I promise I'll do my best to get this done by November._

_There's something about the chapter that I know may sound weird, but I'll address to in the end notes. _

* * *

><p><strong>Theatrum Neutralis, January 2019<strong>

"Are you telling me he walked in, accidentally spilled ink on the bills and _didn't_ realize what it was he got ink on?"

Coachen nodded. "That's precisely what I'm saying," he said, sounding dreadfully tired. No wonder he was, Quercus thought: while he would have expected one so young to be perfectly able to handle a night awake printing bills, doing that _and_ babysitting Ambassador Palaeno was perhaps too much to ask of anyone who was not made of iron. Palaeno was such an incompetent oaf that Coachen needed to take over most of his tasks in the Embassy, leaving him to amuse himself with his coupons and his unlikely plans to promote tourism in that mockery of a country he had _somehow_ come to represent. It fit, though: a joke of an ambassador for a joke of a country.

"I suppose I shouldn't even be surprised anymore," Quercus commented, glancing around to make sure once again that no one was close enough to listen. The compromise of making Theatrum Neutralis American soil had worked quite well for them, he had to admit: it allowed them to meet without anyone wondering. They both had every right to be there, and what was so odd about an old ambassador and his former secretary having a nice talk once in a while?

Still, Quercus preferred to keep their in person meetings scarce: they would stop looking like chance meetings if they were to meet regularly, after all, and besides the Primidux statues and simple metal wire allowed them to exchange goods and messages without even having to leave their respective embassies. That was so very convenient that Quercus still smirked when he thought about it. Had he known how useful that stupid squabbling over statues would have turned out to be he certainly would have been less annoyed when he had to deal with it.

"I'll resume printing the bills tonight," Coachen was saying. "So that I can meet the deadline. You'll have a new batch of bills before the end of the week."

Quercus frowned. "Are you certain that's wise? Palaeno has just found you up at night, operating the printers. He may have believed you when you said you were printing coupons, but he might suspect something if he happens to see you printing at night twice in a row," he said. The man may be an idiot, thankfully, but Quercus didn't want to posh their luck too far. He was confident he'd stay untouchable by law even if Ambassador Palaeno were to find out what was going on, but it would still be an annoying setback. They could wait a few more days for those bills, and no harm would come from it.

Coachen shrugged. "I doubt he'd realize what we're doing even if I rubbed it on his face."

"But you're not _sure_, are you?" Quercus remarked. There was something he didn't like in Coachen's casual tone – it was that of a man brushing aside a foolish old man's concerns, and Quercus certainly wasn't willing to be talked down to.

"I am."

"If there is anything I learned in my life, _boy_," Quercus said, emphasizing the last word, "it's that you _never_ underestimate an enemy in a position of power. I have little to nothing to fear from him, no matter what his role is – but you do. A misstep may cost you everything. And I wouldn't risk compromising myself to put a remedy to one of your foolish mistakes. Not _again_."

That was enough to make Coachen stiffen, wiping away the almost bored look on his face. "Colias is no threat. A nuisance, but hardly someone I'd define an enemy."

Quercus narrowed his eyes. "Colias," he repeated, and Coachen seemed to wince.

"Ambassador Palaeno," he quickly corrected himself, but he couldn't take back the slip and Quercus wouldn't ignore it. First-name basis meant a personal relationship, and last time Coachen had been in a less than professional relationship with someone who could be a problem... well, he had proved himself to be unreliable. Quercus was rather convinced that having to kill Cece Yew had been a good lesson, the kind that ensures a mistake is never repeated again, but some extra caution never hurt. He folded his hands on his staff and leaned some more on it before he spoke.

"Allow me to remind you something, boy," he said, his voice perfectly calm. "Everyone outside the ring is a potential enemy. Anyone who holds enough power to threaten it _is_ an enemy, period. Which includes Ambassador Palaeno. You seem far too relaxed around him, Coachen; too much for me to be sure you won't make a mistake someday. Perhaps I should give you a new role, or take Palaeno himself out of the picture. His foolishness may be faked, after all," he added. He highly doubted that was the case, but what mattered now was gauging Coachen's reaction to the idea. "I don't lack the means to have him permanently taken care of should he be a threat, after all."

Some color seemed to drain from Coachen's face, a change so subtle that Quercus may have not caught it hadn't he been staring intently looking for a reaction. He was less good, however, at keeping an even voice.

"No," he said quickly, almost too quickly for Quercus' tastes. "No, there will be no need to. That man is an idiot. I can keep working as usual without having to recur to anything drastic – I could print bills under his nose and he would only keep talking of coupons. He's no threat."

"You tried to tell me Yew wouldn't be a threat either, and yet you had to silence her in the end," Quercus said sharply, striking a calculated blow. For a moment before he regained control the other man's features twisted in anger and something else Quercus wasn't sure he could define, nor he really cared to; when he spoke again, however, he sounded in control once more.

"Yew was perceptive; Palaeno is not. Yew was a threat because she knew too much, and she knew too much because someone at the Amano Group was careless. I won't be," he replied. "Palaeno will never know anything he's not supposed to know."

Quercus nodded. "Good. I suppose I don't need to remind you that if you make a mistake you'll be on your own. If you're caught and try dragging me or the ring with you, I'll crush you."

"I'm well aware of that, sir," Coachen said, his voice like ice. But of course he knew, Quercus thought: he had known full well that it was no child's game since the day he had to drench his hands in Cece Yew's blood. There always comes a moment when you know that child games are over, Quercus mused. One day you think you're safe, you think you're in control, and then the sun goes out and you know there are powers at play that can crush you as easily as you could crush a fly. And that moment would come for everyone, sooner or later. _Everyone._

_Mother? Father? Anyone…?_

_Please, don't be dead, Laurie, you'll be alright, I'm here, your big brother is here._

"Sir?"

Coachen's voice reached Quercus as though from a mile away. He blinked and shook his head before turning back to the young man. "We can wait one more week for those bills. Don't use the printers at night for a few more days. And print some coupons to show the fool should he see you operating the printers again," he added, turning to leave. It was a good thing, he thought, that the plans to reunite Allebahst and Babahl into Cohdopia once more – plans that had been in motion for a few years – were getting closer and closer to fruition. Cohdopia's reunion was a mere matter of time; once that happened he would certainly be its ambassador, and Coachen would once again work under him directly. They'd no longer have to smuggle items from one embassy to the other, no longer need to meet in the lobby, no longer have to worry about Palaeno; he may be a fool, but his presence alone was a bother.

"Yes, sir," he heard Coachen saying, and the relief in his voice now that the conversation was over with didn't really sit well with him. The man was on edge, like something was bothering him, but Quercus couldn't put his finger on _what_ it may be. Perhaps it was only stress for the need of taking over Palaeno's duties in addition to his work for the smuggling ring, but Quercus couldn't shake off the feeling there was more going on that Coachen was letting by. Just a hunch, really, but how many times had those hunches turned out to be correct?

Quercus mulled over it as he walked back to the Allebahstian embassy, leaning heavily on his staff – he had been acting more and more like a frail old man in the past years, and while his back would give him hell for the hunched posture from time to time he prided himself for being truly above any suspect of wrongdoing. Oh, there was a part of him that had grown to _hate_ that façade... and yet he could now say he understood what Durandii had once told him, so many years before.

_Let them think you're weak, let them think you're old, let them think you're a fool – the last laugh will be yours, because you'll know you fooled everybody._

Not everybody, Quercus thought, for there were a few people – very few people – who knew perfectly he was anything but a frail, old fool. Of course all of them were people under his complete control, people whose life he could end with one order and who had more to gain by working for him than they could ever gain working _against_ him. And Manny Coachen fit in both those criteria. Still...

Quercus paused and turned to glance across the lobby. Coachen was just now walking through the door leading inside the Babahlese embassy, unaware of his gaze on him. It occurred then to Quercus that Coachen didn't quite satisfy both criteria, not anymore: as the _only_ man he had left inside the Babahlese embassy, Coachen had something no other member of the smuggling ring had – a place to hide where Quercus wouldn't be able to reach him without considerable effort and time.

The Babahlese embassy.

That thought alone hadn't unnerved before, but it did now as Quercus thought back of Coachen's eagerness to reassure him of the fact Colias Palaeno was, indeed, no threat. Why should the man's life mean anything to him? Could there be something more to it than it met the eye? If Palaeno was indeed the fool Quercus thought he was, he supposed it would be possible for someone like Coachen using him as a pawn for... for what? What use could he possibly have?

Perhaps it was nothing, Quercus thought as he walked back to his office; perhaps he was merely seeing danger where there was none. But perhaps it was something, and if so Quercus had no intention to be caught unprepared. He would put Coachen under observation for a while, he decided... and he knew exactly who he should pick for the job.

* * *

><p>"So you're asking me to use the Interpol's resources to keep track of everything Coachen does. Is that it?"<p>

Quercus nodded, turning his gaze away from the plant he had been looking at – it needed some more water, he decided – and looking back at her. Once again, he had to admit he was impressed by Chrysalis' ability to change her appearance: the woman he was looking at may very well be a complete stranger, and looked nothing like her Shih-na persona.

"Yes, that's exactly it."

"Do you suspect him of anything? Double crossing, maybe?"

Quercus shook his head. "I don't quite suspect him... yet. Admittedly, he gave me little reason to."

"But there is _something t_hat bothers you," she stated.

"Obviously. I wouldn't have called for your presence otherwise. I know full well that meeting in person isn't an easy feat with your cover to keep up."

A faint smile curled her lips. "Lang trusts me utterly. Coming up with an excuse to come in the States for a few days was easy enough. He'll believe anything I tell him."

That last statement sounded a bit too much like what Coachen kept telling him about Palaeno, Quercus thought in mild amusement. He leaned back on his seat. "Whatever the case, you won't have to stay for long. Nor your presence here will be required to keep Coachen under control. I trust you'll be able to do that well enough from afar with the resources the Interpol can grant you. It goes without saying that the Interpol itself must know nothing of your little... side work. Their attention must stay as far away as possible from this embassy and from Coachen."

Chrysalis – Shih-na – nodded. "Of course. But it may not be enough in the long run. Lang knows what ink Zheng-Fa's fake bills are made with, and has his eye on Babahl already. I can gain time, but he's bound to turn his attention to the Babahlese embassy sooner or later."

Quercus shrugged, unconcerned. "We'll be ready when he will. What do we have to fear if you can tell me in advance? When the time comes, we'll simply move everything incriminating in the Allebahstian embassy. He has no reason to come snooping around here. And even if he does, I'll make sure he comes out with nothing. Don't worry about any of that yet; at the moment your only concern is gaining time and looking after Coachen."

"What am I exactly looking for?"

Quercus didn't reply right away: instead he reached for a pile of papers, looking for one specific sheet. Once found it, he pushed it towards her without even looking up at her. "This is a list of everything Coachen has been ordered to do this month. You'll get another next month, and so on. If he does anything – anything – even vaguely suspicious that's not on the list, report to me directly. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Also keep an eye on Palaeno's communications to Babahl; as an Interpol agent you can do that far more efficiently than I could myself, no doubt. Any communication from that fool's office is certain to come from Coachen, since the way he puts it Palaeno cannot even find his way to the restroom without assistance. Again, if anything strikes you as even vaguely odd, or unusual, or a potential problem-"

"I'll report to you, yes. He's a cute kid."

"Yes, precise- what?" Quercus blinked, finally looking up at her with a confused frown. Chrysalis had something in her hand, something that had likely slipped on the desk while Quercus searched for the sheet of paper with Coachen's orders – a photograph he had received along with one of Issoria's letters the previous week. He had forgotten it was even there.

Chrysalis looked up from the picture and put it on back on the desk. It showed a boy no older than five, with ruffled brown hair and green eyes, standing on a stool and trying to reach for a cookie jar on the shelf above him. He had to stretch quite a bit to be able to reach it, and his brow was scrunched in stubborn concentration. "This kid. He's rather cute. Your grandson?" she guessed.

Quercus clenched his jaw. The boy _was_ Daphne's son, yes, and he had been named after him... but that didn't change the fact he had no answer to her question. "Not that I know," he finally said drily, reaching to take the picture and hoping that would be enough of a clue for her to drop the matter. It wasn't.

"I bet he thought no one was looking while he tried to get himself a cookie," she said with mild amusement. She was giving that faint smile once again, the smile of someone who thinks of the whole world as a joke no one else but them gets. "He probably thought he was being sneaky and smart. Kids are like that. Maybe we'll catch Coachen with his hands in the cookie jar as well. But if we do, I'm sure he'll have something worse than a spanking coming. "

That caused Quercus to narrow his eyes. "Obviously. Coachen received a warning already. He had a second chance after his first failure. I'm not a forgiving man, and there will be no other chance for him. Not for incompetence, let alone for betrayal."

"I see."

Quercus put the photograph inside a drawer, the one where he kept Issoria's letters, and stood. It felt good being able to stand up properly in front of someone instead of leaning on a staff and pretending to be struggling to get up; he had done that for so long that sometimes he found himself keeping the act up even when alone. "Obviously, I may be worrying over nothing. I have nothing but a gut feeling," he added.

But he couldn't think of one single instance in his long life when his gut feelings turned out to be wrong – and, not even a month later, he'd know that was not about to change.

* * *

><p>"HOW DARE HE!"<p>

If Chrysalis was in the slightest impressed by his outburst, she didn't let it show: she simply stood in his office, her expression unreadable, as Quercus paced back and forth in long strides. In his fury he was barely even aware of her presence anymore. "He, removing _me_ from my position! To put _Palaeno_ of all people in my place in the embassy and make _himself_ the ringleader! Did he really think I wouldn't know? That I would be so easily cast aside? DID HE?"

"So it seems," Chrysalis' neutral voice reached him as though from miles away. "Mind-reading machines are not among the resources the Interpol can offer, but judging from his plans I'd say that's his goal."

Quercus snarled, his hands balling into tight fists. "The day I'll let some _boy_ replace me will be the day I'll crawl to my grave!" he spat. "He's a fool if he truly thinks his plan can work! Compared to me, Palaeno is a complete _nobody_! I won _wars_ before that useless idiot's father even _thought_ of breeding! A bloody golden statue would never be enough to change that!"

"But time might."

Her words were spoken quietly, but they were enough to make him pause for the first time and stare at her. His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. Not that it seemed to impress her in the slightest, for she shrugged and smirked.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" she said, taking a mock military stance.

Quercus snorted. "Get on with it!"

Her expression turned serious once more. "What you say may have been true until a few years ago. But now it may not be so simple."

"What do you-"

"You're _old_, Alba," she cut him off, something about the blunt retort causing him to shut his mouth. He couldn't even begin to recall last time anyone had dared to speak to him like that. "And to those who don't know any better think you're a frail old man prone to shouldering more responsibility than you should. Unfit to keep going as the ambassador of a reunited Cohdopia, some will say. They'll probably say that replacing you would be best for you as well, and maybe they'll even believe it themselves. Poor old man, still working for his country at his age. Such self-sacrifice. Let him get some well-deserved rest and give all that grievous work to a younger man," she said in a mockingly worried tone before sobering up again. "I can almost hear Coachen arguing this as soon as Cohdopia is reunited. Your own façade may very well be a point against you in this. If you add the statue to that, then Coachen's plan may not be so far-fetched after all. And you wouldn't be able to truly protest against the decision of giving your place to Palaeno without discarding the humble old man mask you've been wearing for so long. Coachen must know that very well."

For several moments, Quercus couldn't speak: he could only stare at her, everything she had just said sinking in his mind. She was right, he knew that. As much as he hated to admit it, she was _right_. Coachen's plan may just _work, _and the thought of the smugness on that worthless bastard's face should he actually see him removed was unbearable.

And he would do everything in his power to make sure he'd never have to see it.

"Double crossing me was his last mistake," he finally spoke, his voice barely above a growl. "His plan may or may not work, but he won't be alive to see the result either way."

Chrysalis didn't seem surprised in the slightest. "What do you plan on doing? He's not so easily reachable while in the Babahlese Embassy."

"He has to leave it from time to time. And the lobby is not Babahlese territory."

"I see. Are you planning on hiring a killer, or-" she trailed off when Quercus snorted at her suggestion.

"And deny myself the pleasure of seeing him draw his last breath?" he seethed. "No, never. He'll die by _my_ hand, knowing exactly _why_. I want him to know that he _lost_."

That seemed to take her by surprise. She raised an eyebrow. "You ordered several murders as far as I can recall, but never acted personally. Why is this any different? Taking it as a personal matter?"

Quercus scowled. "It _is_," he snapped. "You weren't here when he first walked in here. A mere boy of no importance and great ambition – ambition that would have stayed unfulfilled hadn't it been for me! He owes me everything, and rather than being grateful he goes and tries to stab me in the back!"

"You forced him to kill Cece Yew," she reminded him, but Quercus silenced her with an angry wave of his arm.

"Nonsense! He only had himself and Yew to blame for that situation! He should be grateful that I gave him a second chance at all! He owes me everything!" he barked, and resumed pacing back and forth in his fury. Coachen was going to pay, and he was going to pay _dearly_. He thought he could replace him? Thought he could double cross _him_ and live to tell it? Very well then – he'd make sure he'd know just how wrong he had been before he ended his life and took back everything he had ever given-

_You owe me everything you have. I didn't take anything from you – I gave you everything. And now, now I'll be taking it all back!_

Quercus stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly feeling as though he had just stepped through a very, very cold shower. It had to show on his face and his posture, too, for he could faintly hear Chrysalis asking him what was wrong. Quercus turned in her general direction, but he wasn't really looking at her: he looked at the wall behind her, his ears buzzing, his mouth dry.

"Nothing," he heard himself croaking. "Nothing's wrong."

He probably didn't sound convincing, and she pressed on again. "You're pale."

"I'm fine," Quercus snapped, but his own voice sounded distant. He looked at his desk, but it was someone else's desk he saw in its place now – an even larger mahogany desk with a metal miniature of the Primidux statue on it, the one High General Vulneraria had hit him with the day he had come into his office to kill him.

He hadn't thought of that worm in a long, long time – but now his odious voice was coming from the back of his mind once again, speaking the same exact words he had spoken that night, each of them etched in his memory.

_I am quite disappointed in you, General Alba. I would have expected at least some gratitude from you._

_What you claim destroyed your life actually gave you a chance you wouldn't have had otherwise. You owe me everything you have. _

_And now I'll be taking it all back._

But that wasn't Vulneraria's voice anymore, was it? No, it wasn't. It had sounded different. The voice echoing in the back of his mind spoke his same words, but it wasn't Vulneraria's – it was _his_.

_He owes me everything, and rather than being grateful he goes and tries to stab me in the back!_

Quercus' gaze stopped on the window. It was dark outside, and he could see his reflection in the glass – but it was barely visible, and oddly distorted. It seemed to smirk at him even though his own lips did not move.

"Vulneraria," he said, his voice low and bitter.

"Sir?"

Quercus tore his gaze away from the window and turned back to Chrysalis. She looked calm enough, but he could see the mild confusion on her face. He smiled bitterly. "Anthyllis Vulneraria. He was the High General of Cohdopia many years ago. Even in death, he still is the man I hate the most in the world. I killed him, but only oncefor real. I killed him more times than I care to count in my dreams, sure enough. I never thought that someday I'd see him again, staring right back at me," he added, his voice lower. It was a special kind of bitterness, he though – looking at your reflection to see you have _become_ the man you despised more than anything.

And it was ironic, oh yes. So very ironic. A chuckle escaped him, and he finally turned back to the statue in the middle of his office – Primidux's golden statue, the real one, the greatest treasure of Cohdopia's royal family. It felt like a lifetime ago when his loyalty had been solely for the royal family... if it had ever been. Because in the end he had only ever been loyal to himself... and to Queen Luzula, as long as she had lived.

_I still have something to ask of you._

_Anything, Your Highness._

_Keep working to get us closer to the States. I still believe that's going to be our best insurance for a lasting stability. The sooner we achieve that, the sooner the smuggling ring will stop being needed. You're going to be completely on control from now on. You'll have to end it when the time is right._

_I will. You have my word._

But he hadn't kept his word, not that time. His loyalty to Queen Luzula had only lasted as long as her life had, and he had never fulfilled her very last request by ending the smuggling ring. He had kept it up against her last wishes because it was the last tangible part he had left of all the power he had achieved in life, because he had nothing else to truly _use_ his power for and... and... was that all? Was that _it_? Had he kept it all up solely because it kept him busy, because it allowed him to keep using people as pawns on a chess board as though he was still in the army, still moving troops across a map to win battles and glory? Had he kept it all up because it amused him?

Yes. Yes, he had. And Vulneraria, why had Vulneraria done it? Quercus had never asked him before drowning him in his own blood. He wished he had now, but it was too late for that. It was too late for many things.

Not for all of them, though. Not too late to finally fulfill Queen Luzula's last request, perhaps.

Quercus' gaze hardened, still fixed on the golden statue. "It ends here," he heard himself saying. "All of it."

"Sir?"

He turned back to Chrysalis. "The smuggling ring. I've had enough. I'm going to end it," he said, a part of his mind still barely even registering what he was saying. But then again, why should it sound so odd? If it all was nothing but a game, nothing but a way to amuse himself, ending it should be easy. It was nothing he needed - it was a burden, if anything, much like the façade he had forced himself to keep up. It was something he could stop any moment, with no consequences and no regrets. None.

And besides, he had a promise yet to keep. A long-due one.

_You'll have to end it when the time is right._

_I will. You have my word._

_Thank you, General. For everything._

Quercus made an effort to chase away the memory and glanced at Chrysalis. If his statement had surprised her, she had recovered quickly and was now looking at him coolly, in an almost bored fashion. "The Amano Group may not appreciate your decision, sir."

"The hell with Amano. I have more the means to drag him and his corporation in the mud if so I wished, and I'll have no use for him once this is over. He'll hold his tongue if he knows what's good for him."

"What are you ending it for? To keep it from falling in Coachen's hands? I thought you planned on killing him."

Quercus narrowed his eyes. "The reason why I took this decision is none of your concern. As for Coachen, he'll still die," he said coldly. The man had betrayed him, and he was not going to let that pass – smuggling ring or not. He had signed his own death sentence, and Quercus was going to be judge, jury and executioner. "I'll kill him myself, as I said. If he wants to be the ringleader so badly, then let him. Let everyone think he _was_. Let him die with the ring, bearing the guilt of my crimes."

For a few moments she said nothing, only staring at him with an unreadable expression before she spoke. "How do you plan to achieve that?"

He didn't reply right away: instead, he turned to open the window and look outside. His gaze fell on the window beyond which, he knew, was Coachen's office. "In a month's time there will be a goodwill event here," he finally said slowly. "It will be meant to show both countries are willing to overcome differences to become one again. There will be people coming and going, and people from both embassies will be in the lobby. There is going to be some kind of show in Theatrum Neutralis; Palaeno and I are both expected to be there, and so will Coachen. That's when I'll act. Of course, we'll need to organize everything carefully and make sure all the pawns are in the right position."

"Pawns such as...?"

"The Interpol. The Yatagarasu will send a card to the press shortly before it, promising to expose the embassy's secrets. Oh, it will be us to send it, obviously – but no one will know better."

"So you're planning on having the Interpol here when you kill Coachen?"

"The Interpol, and you. I'll need you to make sure everything goes smoothly. They want the ringleader, don't they? Very well, then. We'll give them one," Quercus said, and gave a sinister smile. "We'll give them his dead body, and then it will be over. All of it," he added, turning once again to look at the golden statue in the middle of his office. "Coachen's death will bring everything to a close."

He wasn't entirely wrong on that.

* * *

><p><em>AN (again): just a quick word about Alba actually wanting to end the ring. I know it can sound weird, but the game actually gave us two contrasting lines on Alba's plans for the ring AFTER Coachen's murder: on one hand he mocked Edgeworth by saying that no matter what they did, he could still resume his "game" in some other embassy of whatever country - but on the other he said, and I quote, "I had... yet another reason, yet another story that was supposed to play out! Manny's death was supposed to bring everything to a close!"  
><em>_To me that sounded a lot like he was planning on REALLY bringing the whole thing to a close, with Coachen as the ringleader murdered by the Yatagarasu. Since when he said that he knew he was cornered and had no reason left to lie (as opposed to his other line, uttered when was still convinced he couldn't be brought down and was mocking his opponents) I decided to go with the idea that he had planned for the smuggling ring to end with Coachen, and dismissed the other line as Alba simply being an arrogant bastard. I hope I was able to at least provide an explanation that makes some sense on why Alba would take that decision, at least in the context of this story._


	34. Ablaze

_A/N: here's the second to last chapter. I hope it won't disappoint. I tried to cover the events of Turnabout Ablaze in it - namely, the plan Alba and Shih-na pulled off behind the scenes - without making it too boring. I skimmed over the final confrontation as well because, well, we all know how it goes down. And we all know how damn LONG it is. I could think of no way to re-write it without making it overly long and incredibly boring._

_Man, can't believe this is almost over. Hope I'll be able to get the epilogue written soon!_

* * *

><p>"I must thank you for receiving me on such a short notice, Ambassador Alba. I know you must be quite busy, with the goodwill event and all. My word, there is so much to do! I'm so lucky Manny is here to help me out! As in, there. In the Babahlese embassy, not here. Though I hope it will make no difference in a few days, of course. I mean, if all goes well the embassy will be one again, too. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"<p>

It took quite a lot of Quercus' self-control not to reach across his desk to grab Palaeno by the neck and shake that insufferably bright smile off his face, but somehow he managed to refrain. Instead, he folded his hands in front of him and nodded. "That would indeed be a dream come true," he said in a slow, quiet voice. His old man voice, as he had come to think of it. Very useful but oh God, how he had grown to hate it. "It has pained me deeply seeing the country I fought for all my life split in two. Perhaps if I had done a better job when I could, it wouldn't have split. I suppose I had simply grown too old and weak by then," he added in a mournful tone. He stayed silent and patiently listened as Palaeno stumbled over his own words to reassure him that he had certainly done all that was possible before speaking again.

"Your judgment on my work is far too kind, I think, but I thank you. Now, Ambassador – may I ask what is it you wished to discuss? You made it sound like such an urgent matter," he said, reaching up to stroke his beard. Having no idea what Palaeno could possibly want to ask of him only one day before the goodwill event that was supposed to lead to the reunification of Cohdopia, he didn't have to fake his curiosity. Nor had to wait for long for it to be sated.

"It's... well, this is a bit embarrassing, really, but..." Palaeno wrung his hands, and his smile seemed somewhat anxious now. "This is about... well, about the statues, you see."

Quercus blinked. "The statues?" he repeated, genuinely taken aback. He hadn't thought for a moment that Palaeno may be aware that something may be up with the statues: up to that moment he had assumed he had no idea of Coachen's plan, as the oblivious oaf he was. Because he was entirely oblivious of what happened in his own embassy, that was for sure – too naïve, too trusting, too easy to manipulate. No wonder Coachen would benefit from making him the Ambassador of a reunited Cohdopia: he would be able to control any smuggling operation with that oaf none the wiser. Unfortunately for him, none of it would happen.

"Yes, the statues," Palaeno was saying, still wringing his hands together. He was looking down at the desk rather than straight at Quercus, like a child apologizing for something... or about to _ask_ for something. "You see, the one we have in the Babahlese embassy... you know, Babahl's statue, it's... pretty obviously, uh..."

"Fake," Quercus finished for him, causing Palaeno to look up at him with something akin to relief.

"Oh. So you knew that?"

Quercus nodded. "From the very start, yes. The Babahlese troops never made it to the capital during the war, which means they never had a chance to seize the real one. Knowing this, it's obvious that the one you have is a replica." And a poorly done one since all one would need to know it was fake was trying to lift it, he may have added, but he held his tongue: he was not supposed to have ever seen that statue up close, after all. Even an idiot like Palaeno would wonder how he knew _that_.

Unaware of his thought, Palaeno was nodding. "Yes, exactly. Ours is a replica. It wasn't a really smart move, to be honest, because... well, it was obvious enough that it could only be a fake. But the new Babahlese government needed some validation in the eyes of our people, and they... couldn't really _know_, you see."

Yes, Quercus could see precisely what he meant... and he was starting to see where he may be getting at. "I can imagine. Is there any particular reason why you decided to bring this up now?" he asked, though he knew perfectly what the reason had to be: before the country's reunion was sealed, a team of experts from both Allebahst and Babahl was supposed to examine the statues and clear all doubts on which one was the authentic one. The final result was going to have a weight on the reunion – namely, on how much weight each country would have in it.

Quercus knew, of course, that with the Allebahstian statue being the true one that could only go one way – with Allebahst being once again in charge, and likely himself being confirmed as the Cohdopian ambassador. Which was exactly what Coachen was trying to change, so what was Palaeno there for? Was he hoping he could talk him into stepping down by lying over what statue ? Could it be? Did he know of Coachen's plan?

Palaeno cleared his throat, the smile gone from his face. He looked uncharacteristically serious. "Well, this is about the examination on the statues that's due to happen – I mean, I _hope_ it's due to happen, if all goes well. We both know which statue is real and which isn't, but nothing matters more to me than the best possible outcome for this reunification... so I hoped we could reach an agreement."

Quercus tilted his head on one side. "An agreement?" he repeated. If that oaf was foolish enough to think he could make him step down from his position, then he was going to make him say it out loud. Still, Palaeno's reply was not what he had expected.

"I'd truly appreciate it if we could give our countries an opportunity to have a fresh start. What sparked the civil war in the first place was inequality; I fear that by giving Allebahst most of the weight – again – then all of it will have been for nothing. A more equal representation of both is what we need, wouldn't you agree?" he added somewhat hopefully.

Well, Quercus thought, maybe he wasn't a _complete_ imbecile after all. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, I do," he said, and for once he was being entirely honest. He did see Palaeno's point, and it reminded him rather closely what Daphne had told him during the war, when he had helped her after her arrest.

_If breaking off for a time, stretching our own legs and leaving you to see how you'd do without Babahl is what it takes to make the people in Allebahst – the people, not the royal family – stop seeing us as a burden who owes them everything, then maybe it will be worth it. And maybe, when we'll have one country again, it will be a fairer one._

But if Allebahst got most of the authority on the reunion, then nothing would have changed. Governments of both countries had worked ceaselessly to find a reasonable compromise between a republic and monarchy – a constitutional monarchy was what they had agreed on eventually, and Quercus couldn't help but think that kind of monarchy fit Queen Wilkiea so much better than the nearly boundless power her mother had once held – but wouldn't causing power unbalance early on go against everything they were trying to achieve with the reunion? Wasn't change supposed to be the _point_? Wouldn't keeping the old status quo go against everything the reunification was to be about?

_Someone once told me that sometimes you need to break the vase to let the plant grow._

"Ambassador Alba?"

Quercus looked back up at Palaeno, whose presence he had forgotten for a moment. He looked somewhat anxious, but there was also a determination there that, for a moment, reminded Quercus of his father. How old was he now? Was he even still alive? He didn't even know. "Yes, I agree with you," he repeated. "There should be no power unbalance if Cohdopia is to have a new start; that much is obvious. I assume you also have some idea to achieve the equality you speak of."

Some of the anxiety seemed to fade from Palaeno's face, and he gave yet another wide smile. "I'm glad to know we see this the same way. See, I was thinking that the best course of action... you'll forgive me for having talked about this with some of the experts who are going to examine the statues, I hope. I had no intention to bypass you, of course, so if you don't agree-"

Quercus cut him off with a vague gesture if his hand. "It's quite alright. Just tell me what you have in mind."

Palaeno drew in a deep breath and straightened himself. "I think it would be best for everyone if we claimed that it was impossible to determinate which statue is the real one. That way it would be impossible for either country to claim more weight than the other in the reunification process. Of course I know it may be too much to ask," he added quickly. "I mean, your country's interests are important to you, but please consider-"

"I agree."

It was quite amusing, Quercus thought, how those two simple words had made Palaeno trail off and fall silent. He stared at him for a few moments, mouth hanging open, before speaking again. "You... do?"

A nod. "Yes. You are right, Ambassador Palaeno: if Cohdopia is to have a new start as one country, them there mustn't be such unbalances. Besides, you are mistaken in one thing: while my loyalty was always and will always be with the royal family, Allebahst is not the country I fought for all my life. _Cohdopia_ is. And there would be no Cohdopia without Babahl," he added, thinking of Issoria's small village and her tidy house, of the smell of freshly baked bread and soap and clean sheets in the sun. He truly meant part of what he was saying, or at least so Quercus wanted to think, but another reason why he agrred was the fact that Palaeno's idea would nip Coachen's scheme in the bud. Oh, Coachen would still die, whether or not his plan worked: there could be no mercy for a traitor... but knowing he would die for nothing made it even better.

Unaware of his musings, Palaeno gave him a wide smile. "Does that mean...?"

"We have an agreement. The statues will never be examined, and we'll claim no one could determinate which is the real one. Someone may find out someday, but by then the reunification will have hopefully happened on fairer grounds and it will be too late to go back. It's in Cohdopia's best interest," Quercus said.

He wondered whether or not Coachen knew of that plan, but in the end it mattered little – Coachen would be dead by the time he and Chrysalis would swap the statues. Why, wasn't it ironic: Palaeno would find himself with the real statue, but would never have it checked so that it wouldn't turn out to be fake and thus would never know; and, when whatever thief Coachen had hired would show up to take the real one, they'd steal a fake. It was so amusing that Quercus almost laughed.

_Almost_, because the next moment Palaeno was producing coupons from hell knew where and babbling something about visiting Babahl, and Quercus had to refrain from smashing his head with his staff. He had far more important things to concern himself with than listening to that idiot's babbling, after all: there was the goodwill event to finish planning, the details of the plan to define... and two imbeciles' trouble to cover up for.

The first problem he had to deal with that afternoon was hardly anything important, truth to be told: some underling had been caught and accused of murdering some Interpol agent looking for evidence of the smuggling operations on the plane she worked on. There was little need to act there: she was no one of any importance, knew nothing and no one outside her role and didn't even know the identity of those who gave her orders – let alone that of the ringleader. She could be simply left in the police's hands, Quercus had decided: she was no threat. The fact an Interpol agent had come as far as finding one of his smuggling routes was mildly impressive, he had admit, and it may have been a problem... hadn't it been for the detail Quercus was going to shut down everything the very next day. So he didn't concern himself with that, either: in only a day they would have a fake and very much dead ringleader to blame for everything, after all. Less trouble for him.

Amano's arrest, on the other hand, _could_ be troublesome. He didn't know nor care on what grounds the man had been arrested, but he knew Agent Lang was after him for smuggling operations the Amano Group had been involved into; Chrysalis had confirmed as much, so it was obvious Lang would do anything to make him crack and reveal everything he knew about the smuggling ring.

And he knew a _great_ deal of things.

But that didn't matter now, not as it would have mattered before he decided to end everything. So in the end Quercus' only counter-action had been ordering an agent he had in the court, a prosecutor, to take the case against Amano and use that position to take possession of the videotape of the Yew murder; foolishly enough, Quercus had never wondered what had become of it after Amano made it conveniently disappear. With the videotape out of the way, Quercus would be rid of any real evidence possibly linking him to what had happened, and should Amano ever confess it would be too late: the smuggling ring would be over with by then, Coachen would be known as the ringleader, and nothing would be left to actually implicate him.

Why, it was very likely no one would believe him to begin with, Quercus mused. The thought almost caused him to smirk, but he held back just on time: he was sure he would never get rid of Palaeno and his coupons should he see him smirking and mistake that for anything even remotely close to interest.

* * *

><p>Quercus had expected to feel nervous once the day of the goodwill event came, or at least tense; all he could feel instead, from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, was a calm resolve and something akin to relief. The charade was to an end, and the man who had back-stabbed him would soon be dead. One last death, and it would be over. What was one more life to take after having taken so many, either by his hand or by an order? There was far more blood on his hands than it could possibly run into Coachen's veins in that very moment.<p>

Not even the uncertainty of whatever his role would be once it all had ended – would he still be the ambassador? If so, what would he do through his days now that he was about to bring everything to a close – could truly bother him. Perhaps he would resign after all, and seek a new place in the reunited Cohdopia; a place of more importance and power than ambassadorship, if so he wished. Yes, he could do that, but not right away: perhaps he would take some time for himself before then.

Perhaps he would visit Issoria's village once the country was reunited – he hadn't seen her in a long time, after all. Perhaps he would be able to talk to Daphne in person, just a few words to know how she was faring; he could meet her son as well, see by himself if his eyes truly were the same shade of green as his mother's – and as his own. Perhaps he would stay for a time, allow himself to think that maybe, just maybe, it could be enough. It was possible.

As he gazed out of his office's window that morning, observing the preparations for set up the stage he'd deliver his speech from in the Rose Garden, everything seemed possible.

Quercus looked away to the window and to the rack where a set of Allebahstian knives – once part of a bigger set, the other half of which had been claimed by Babahl – hang, carefully polished... and ready to be used. Or so Quercus assumed. What if the blades were too blunt to kill with one clean strike? Perhaps he should make sure at least one of the blades was sharp, and if not he should take care to sharpen it.

Still, when he reached to take one of the knives and unsheathed it, he could tell no sharpening would be needed: the blade was perfectly sharp already, ready to cut through flesh and kill. Quercus smirked, faintly wondering how long had it been since last time he held a proper weapon, aside from the crossbow he used to switch the statues with Coachen.

Too long, he thought. Far too long. A soldier should always have a weapon at hand.

Quercus stared at the decorated handle for a few moments before tossing the knife up in the air, well above his head. The knife spun, its blade catching the light coming from the window, then it began falling back down. Quercus' other hand shot up and caught the handle; a quick motion of his wrist, the knife twirling between his fingers, a half-turn, his arm shooting out – and he froze, the raised blade half a inch from one of the plants in his office. Had it been a person and had he not stopped, they would have found themselves with their throat slit open.

A cold smile slowly spread on Quercus' face as he lowered his arm. So many years without even practicing and he hadn't even rusted, his form flawless as it had been when he was in his prime. Why, he thought as he went to place hide the knife in the bouquet he was supposed to give the Steel Samurai that evening, wasn't _that_ something to be proud of. It was almost a shame that Coachen's murder would have to be simpler; one quick strike at the base of the neck, he decided, while Coachen was looking away. He was certain he could overpower him in combat, no matter how much younger Coachen was – he never had any kind of military training, very much unlike himself – but giving him a chance of crying out for help could very well be his undoing. And Quercus couldn't allow that to happen.

He was just done hiding the knife in the bouquet when he heard a knock at the door, immediately followed by the voice of one of the men who stood guard to the entrance of the embassy.

"Agent Shi-Long Lang of the Interpol is here, sir," he called out through the door.

Quercus reached for his staff and, with an inward sigh, leaned on it in his usual hunched pose. After his moment of pride over his own age defying dexterity, having to put on that façade again was somehow more difficult. But he needed to look like a frail old man, more now than ever. "Do come in," he called out in the slow, weak voice he made himself use most of the time now – his old man voice. God, how he hated it in that moment.

The door opened almost right away, and a man and a woman stepped in. The woman was well known to him, of course – it was Chrysalis, sure enough, in her Shih-na persona. And then man had to be agent Shi-Long Lang, of course.

For quite a while now, whenever Chrysalis mentioned him Quercus would find himself wondering where he had heard a similar name. If he had indeed heard it before it must have been during his visit in Zheng Fa, he would think, but he couldn't quite place it: it had been so many years before, after all, and he had entirely forgotten names and faces of most people he had met. But now, as the man himself stood before him, he could finally realize why the name had seemed so familiar: agent Shi-Long Lang bore an incredible resemblance to the man he had a brief and rather pointless fight two nights after his arrival to Zheng Fa, right beneath the window leading the chambers where Queen Luzula and Crown Princess Wilkiea slept.

"_I am no assassin. I am Dai-Long Lang, of the House of Lang!"_

"_You're who of the house of what?"_

Unaware of Quercus' thoughts, Lang stepped forward and respectfully bowed his head. "Ambassador Alba," he greeted him. "I am agent Shi-Long Lang, of the Interopl. It's a honor to meet you, though I regret it has to be in such circumstances."

Quercus nodded at him and stepped forward, leaning heavily on his staff. "Agent Lang," he greeted back. "I heard much of you and I'm honored to meet you as well. I regret the circumstances perhaps more than you do. After all, this embassy is my responsibility – this one, and the Cohdopian one before. The idea it may have been involved in anything unclear pains me deeply. It is all because I lacked the strength to keep everything under control. I fear my age caught up with me and made me too weak for the role I hold," he said with a mournful sigh. "I failed and now here you are, forced to deal with such an unpleasant situation – and in such a delicate moment, too!"

"Don't blame yourself, Ambassador. Lang Zi says: the dark mind of a criminal is like that of a monster. Impossible to predict or even begin to probe without the training for it – a training each and every of my men has. Shih-na and I already spoke to Ambassador Palaeno," he added, giving a small nod in Chrysalis' direction. She looked back at Quercus, unblinking, her expression not changing. "He has already guaranteed us his full cooperation as well. With your help, I'm certain my men and I will get to the bottom of this. We must thank you for giving us permission to conduct the investigate in such an important moment."

Quercus gave a small nod. "I wish you success more than anything, Agent Lang; this would be the end of a very ugly ordeal, whatever it truly is about. I'm rather ignorant about the details, actually. But I won't be bothering you; you have a more meaningful task at hand than explaining an old man what kind of foul play this embassy may have been involved into. I only have one thing to ask. As you said, this is a very... very delicate moment for both countries that once formed Cohdopia. The reunification is very important to all of us, and so is this goodwill event. I have to ask you to be as discreet as possible."

Lang nodded. "Lang Zi says: every pack has its own rules. I understand your situation and I promise you my men will stick to your rules. I'm certain we'll be able to get to the bottom of all this without hindering your goodwill event."

Quercus faked a relieved sigh. "That's wonderful to hear. I'm certain Ambassador Palaeno told you the same thing, but should you need anything at all during your investigation don't hesitate to ask. I'll do anything I can to help," he said, and allowed himself to zone out a little while he listened with half a ear to Lang's thanks and his renewed promise to get this job done without hindering the goodwill event: nothing the man had to say mattered to him even a tenth of what he would have to do in little more than a couple of hours.

* * *

><p>The show was even worse than Quercus had feared. It made no sense, it was juvenile, the costumes were ridiculous, the fighting techniques displayed made absolutely no sense – honestly, no army training was necessary to realize <em>that<em> – and the female lead seemed to be limping on stage for some reason. How could such a thing even be popular in his country was beyond him, and made him wonder about the new generation he'd be leaving the country to.

Before the show was even halfway through, Quercus was actually grateful of the fact he was sitting on the back, having given his reserved seat to a member of the staff who was apparently a great fan of that rubbish. The man had thanked him profusely, completely unaware that Quercus hadn't given him the seat out of generosity as much as out of need. He had to sit at the back, where no one would notice him slipping out and getting to the backstage to meet Coachen and then sneaking back to his seat once the deed was done.

Which would have to be soon, Quercus thought, taking a look at his watch. Only a couple of minutes left, he thought, but Coachen would certainly be in the backstage already, or at least on his way there. It was time Quercus thought, and reached under his cloak to rest his hand on the knife's handle. Even now he felt no nervousness, no fear, nothing at all but eagerness to get all of that over with and to see Manny Coachen die before his eyes. His only regret was that his death would be quick and that he'd never know who killed him and why, but that was a necessity and couldn't be helped.

_And then everything will be over with him_.

Quercus smiled in the dark, pulled his hand away from the knife and silently stood. With everyone's eyes fixed on the stage, idiotic as the scene playing may be, no one noticed him slipping away from his seat and heading to the backstage – where, he was certain, Coachen was awaiting him. He had never been anything less than punctual.

And his appointment with death was no exception: when Quercus stepped in he was already there, his back to him and looking at some board on the far wall with something scribbled on it. A real pity that the door's hinges squeaked slightly, causing Coachen to turn: killing him would have been a child's play if he stayed turned.

But it didn't matter. He would get another chance.

"Coachen," Quercus greeted him, letting the door close behind himself. A thick door, thick walls, an obnoxiously loud show keeping everyone distracted on the other side – what better place for the perfect murder?

"Sir," Coachen greeted back, giving him a small nod. "Your message was unexpected. This is quite the odd place for a meeting."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. And yet here you are," Quercus said, putting his staff aside before stepping forward. "And I'm glad. What better moment than this to talk about what comes next?"

Coachen frowned, clearly puzzled, but didn't move as Quercus stepped even closer. His right hand's fingers flexed, ready to reach for the knife.

"What comes next? You mean the reunification?"

"I mean the _end_."

Even as those words left his mouth, Quercus knew he shouldn't have uttered them. He should have tried to sound normal, should have kept Coachen unaware of his intentions until the very moment he struck – that was the plan, and for all of his life he had made plans and then had stuck to them.

But not this time. Even later he would never truly know why he hadn't; perhaps it was his anger at Coachen for trying to betray him that wouldn't let him kill quickly, without the younger man even knowing why. But it didn't really matter in that moment: whatever the reason, those words had been spoken and there was no taking them back.

Coachen recoiled, his puzzled expression immediately turning into a warier one. His eyes shifted from Quercus to the door behind him, and then back on him. Coachen's weight shifted from one leg to the other.

"The end?" he repeated. "What end?"

Quercus smiled coldly. "Your end. The end of the smuggling ring. The end of this miserable charade. The end of everything. Did you truly think that you could fool me? That I wouldn't know of your pathetic plans? Did you truly think you could get me out of the way so easily? Did you think you could double cross _me_ of all people, you ungrateful swine?" he seethed.

_I am quite disappointed in you, General Alba. I would have expected at least some gratitude from you_.

Refusing to acknowledge Vulneraria's words echoing in the back of his mind, Quercus simply stared at Coachen and waited for his reaction. The man had grown increasingly pale as Quercus spoke, but by the time he was done he was scowling, his jaw set. Quercus knew before he even spoke that he wouldn't waste time trying to deny the accusations.

"I could, and I _did_," Coachen shot back. "You can't stop it, old man, not _now_. No matter what you think you can do – Colias will be the Cohdopian ambassador, and I will be his secretary. The ring will be _mine_. Perhaps you should concern yourself with less tiring matters, _Ambassador_ Alba," he added with a mixture between a grimace and a smirk. "You should be planning your retirement. You'll get all the time you want to water those flowers of yours, if anything, and choose what flowers you'd like on your grave someday."

Quercus clenched his teeth so hard that his gums hurt. "You would be _nothing_ hadn't it been for me!"

_Where would you be now hadn't your family died? Hadn't you joined the army because you had nothing left but revenge? Do you think you'd be half as powerful as you are now?_

"Maybe, maybe not," Coachen said, his voice icy. "One can never know."

"I gave you everything you have! That's a _fact_!"

_And now I'll be taking it all back!_

Coachen's features twisted in fury, and all of a sudden he barely even looked like himself. The usually collected expression was gone, and his eyes were blazing. "You took from me far more than you ever gave! You made me _kill_ her! Did you think even for a moment I could forget that?"

Quercus gave a barking laugh. "Made you? Oh, no. I didn't _make_ you. You could have chosen differently. You could have refused and faced the consequences of that refusal. Cece Yew would still have died, but it wouldn't have been by your hand. You could have tried to save her, even if it got both of you killed. For her, you could have taken the risk. But you did not. In the end, your life meant more to you than she ever could. Your _position_ meant more. The power you got from it meant more. You sacrificed her for your own sake, and you still dare make yourself believe you _loved_ her, boy? You're so delusional I could almost pity you," he snorted.

"Shut _up_!"

For a moment Quercus feared that Coachen's scream had been heard, but quickly realized that the show was so loud that there was no way for anyone to hear anything from the theater. Reassured, he turned his attention back to Coachen. He looked even more furious now, and pained, which was excellent: not only he got a chance to make him hurt before he killed him, but he was also enraged enough to act without thinking... and foes who act without thinking are so much easier to kill.

"Tell me one thing, Coachen. If you had a chance to go back right now, if you could have her back by simply giving up on anything you achieved or hoped to achieve – would you?"

_If you had a chance to have your old life back now, this very instant, if only you gave up on all you achieved after losing them – would you take it?_

Coachen opened his mouth to speak, but no words left him: his fury seemed to partly vanish as realization sank in. He paled, staring mutely at him, and for a few moments he looked oddly lost. Knowing full well what it meant, Quercus gave a shark-like smile.

_See? You wouldn't – this is the kind of man you are._

"As I suspected. We're the same, you and I, so don't you delude yourself into thinking you're any better than I am. If it came to choosing between her and yourself, you'd still make the same choice you made back then. She may have mattered, but she didn't matter _enough_. No one ever will. This is the kind of man you _are_, Coachen."

"_You bastard!"_

Quercus had expected Coachen to cry out, he had expected him to attack; to an extent he had hoped he would, and thus he was not unprepared when Coachen lost it and threw himself at him. He smirked, shifted his weight and reached for the knife, ready to bury it in Coachen's heart.

But there was something he had not expected, something he had not anticipated: Coachen had they golden key with him, and he was furious – or desperate – enough to use it. It had been hidden somewhere on Coachen's person, and Quercus could only see it at the very last moment, as Coachen's brought back his arm to strike.

The flash of a blade caught Quercus entirely off guard, and hadn't he instinctively reared back the knife would have buried itself in his neck. Still, he didn't make it unscathed: the blade cut in his collarbone, piercing the flesh and scraping against the bone, tearing a hoarse cry from his throat.

"_You'll die as she had to!" _Coachen screamed, rising his arm to strike again – but he was too slow, and the time he wasted by uttering those words ruined any chance he may have had to overpower Quercus before he could react. Adrenaline overriding the pain, Quercus moved faster than he had in years: he ducked under Coachen's blow, taking the knife out of his belt with one swift motion, and stepped aside. Coachen tried to turn to strike again, but he was too inexperienced, too uncoordinated... and, as Quercus had known he would, he left a vital part of himself completely unprotected.

His neck.

The Allebahstian knife cut through the air with deadly precision, and then through flesh and cartilage with a sound Quercus hadn't heard in a long time, but had never quite forgotten. Coachen made a choking noise, that of a man drowning in his own blood. The bloodied blade fell from his hand, and he managed to take just one step forward – his expression now somewhat bewildered, his eyes wide, the handle of the knife still sticking out from the base of his neck – before he collapsed on the floor in front of Quercus. He made a feeble attempt at getting up, but he could roll on his back and then lie still.

Barely aware of his own wound and of the blood seeping through his uniform, Quercus stared down at Coachen as he gurgled in the attempt to breathe. He stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, blood staining his shirt and tie and coming out of his mouth in a small rivulet, the gurgling noises growing weaker and weaker. Then his gaze met Quercus', and he tried to speak – a harsh, rasping noise.

"C-c...Co... li...a-ah..."

Colias, Quercus realized with no small amount of surprise – for whatever reason, he was trying to utter Palaeno's name. And, perhaps even more surprising, Quercus found himself replying.

"If he truly knows nothing of the ring, then I have no reason to harm him," he said quietly.

Whether or not Coachen heard or understood his words he would never know. The next moment Coachen was looking away from him, up to the ceiling, and made an effort to lift one arm to reach out for... for what? What was it he tried to reach?

"Ce...ce..." he gargled, and that was all, that was the last thing he could do: his attempts at speaking ceased, his outstretched arm fell beside his head with a soft thud. One last rattling breath, then his chest stilled and he just lay there, unseeing eyes still fixed on the ceiling above him.

It was over.

For several moments Quercus stood there, aware of nothing but his own harsh breathing and a sense of heat near the base of his neck as blood soaked through his uniform; adrenaline still kept him from feeling much pain, though he knew it wouldn't last. He was startled out of his trance-like state by booming music effects coming from the theater, and he knew he had to to act quickly: he had to put the body in the cart and get back to his seat before the show ended and the light was turned back on.

He had to be quick, he thought, and walked to the cart where he was to hide Coachen's body.

The cart he was to put Coachen's body into was filled almost to the brim with hot dog boxes, but that wasn't much of a problem: it took only a few minutes to take them out, leaving them on the floor. Once the cart was empty, Quercus went back to lift Coachen's body so that he could place him inside. He was heavy, heavier than he had imagined, or perhaps he simply wasn't as strong as he used to be; whatever the reason, by the time he finally put the body inside the cart the dull throb in his collarbone had turned into burning pain.

"You just _had_ to leave a mark on me, didn't you?" he snarled as he placed the body inside so that no limbs would stick out, and scowled when he realized those unseeing eyes were now turned to him. "You had it coming. You... God damn you, you had it coming," he said, and reached to close Coachen's eyes. He had been a distasteful young man, arrogant and back-stabbing, but he had died fighting and Quercus could still have some respect for a foe who went down with a fight. He grabbed the knife's handle and separated it from the blade, leaving the latter firmly stuck at the base of Coachen's neck; Shih-na already knew what to do about that.

He took another few moments to wipe the blade, switch it back into a key and place it on Coachen's person before he stood and went to take the plastic wrap to cover Coachen's body. Last came that dreadful metal doll the Steel Samurai was to carry around, placed on top of the wraps. After one last look to make sure everything looked normal – it did, for the body was now hidden and there was no blood showing – Quercus finally stepped back. His gaze fell on the board right above the cart – Early Summer Rain Jab? What kind of move was that supposed to be? – as he hid the knife's Allebahstian handle under his cloak so that he could hide it in among flowers once more as soon as he was back in the theater.

By then the pain from the wound was growing stronger and Quercus had to grit his teeth against the pain. It was hurting dreadfully and the uniform that covered it was now soaked with blood, but there was nothing he could do about it now: he had to go back to his seat before the end of the show. The cloak would have to be enough to hide the blood until he'd be back in his quarters and could get some time to mend the wound and change into another uniform.

_I've had worse. I cannot falter. Not now._

Still, when he left the room with his usual hunched posture to return to his seat, he felt dizzy – and, for a moment, he truly had to lean on the staff.

* * *

><p>Much of what came next felt almost unreal through the haze of pain; later on Quercus would be almost surprised that no one had realized he was hiding something – the pain was so strong for a while that it seemed almost impossible that he was able to hide any sign of discomfort from everyone's eyes.<p>

No one seemed to have noticed his absence and, after the obligatory picture to take with the Steel Samurai and Ambassador Palaeno – who was still smiling brightly, not knowing that his secretary had died shortly after trying to call out for him – being able to go back to his office was a relief.

Still, it was a short-lived one that gave him no time to mend his wound. In a matter of minutes he had to shake hands yet again with the actor who had played the Steel Samurai – a rather unintelligent young man, but then again that suited his plans just perfectly – and then he had a meeting with a prosecutor, one whose surname sounded oddly familiar without him being able to place it.

"I'm truly sorry I cannot offer any more information, Prosecutor von Karma," he said with a mournful sigh, shaking his head. "To think that anything illegal may have been happening in this very embassy... it is the proof that I'm too old to do anything right, it seems."

The woman's reaction to his words was more or less the same as Lang's had been. "Don't blame yourself, Ambassador. You have my word that we'll catch the Yatagarasu and uncover whatever may have happened in this embassy. And when that will happen..." she had paused, and cracked the whip that for some reason she insisted on carrying around; Quercus had to grant her a special permission for her to do that, and it had been _after_ she had almost reduced one of the border guards tears.

What a peculiar young woman.

As soon as she was gone, he allowed himself a moment's pause to take a painkiller – he had no time to clean or bandage the wound yet, but that didn't mean he'd have to suffer until then – before going down to the Rose Garden, where the Steel Samurai had been instructed to leave the cart. Pushing the cart in the pool was thankfully easy, as was cutting off the water supply to the pool and arranging the lights and statues so that they would show the Yatagarasu's shadow once switched on. That last thing was perhaps not truly necessary, but if the Yatagarasu was to blame for Coachen's murder then there had to _be_ a Yatagarasu... and people who'd see him and Quercus himself in the same place. And what better witness than a crowd of people who cold testify he had been right in front of them when the Yatagarasu appeared? Along with the fact Chrysalis would start a second fire in the Babahlese embassy in the very same moment to place the blame on the Yatagarasu for both the fire and Coachen's murder, that would be his best possible alibi.

He was just done putting the lights and statues in position when he heard shouts coming from the other side of the wall that divided the two embassies – Chrysalis had started the first fire in the Babahlese embassy, and now he only had to wait.

He didn't have to wait for long: soon enough water level in the pool began going down due to the fire-extinguishing efforts, taking the cart down with it until no water was left. And, a few minutes after that, he saw Chrysalis walking up through the tunnel that connected the pools.

There were no words wasted: she only looked up at him, and he gave a brief nod. She nodded back, reached the cart with Coachen's body in it and pushed it back through the tunnel, away from his sight and to the Babahlese embassy. Quercus waited a few minutes to give her time to reach the other pool, then he opened the faucets again to allow the pools to be filled again. Buoyancy would allow Chrysalis to go back up with the cart and get Coachen's body in the Babahlese embassy; the next stage of the plan was now in her hands... at least for now. With one last look at the quickly refilling pool, Quercus walked back inside and to his office – where he could finally use the spare twenty minutes the plan granted him to tend to his wound.

It wasn't easy, and that much was clear right when he had to take off his jacket and shirt: the blood had started to clot causing the fabric to stick to the wound, and he let out a grunt of pain while taking the shirt off. The painkiller he had taken previously wasn't enough, but he dared not take more: he had to stay sharp, especially now.

"You had _worse_, old man," Quercus muttered to himself, and kept his teeth clenched as cleaned the wound, disinfected it with some alcohol and gave himself a quick bandage. By the time he was done his wound was throbbing dreadfully, but he ignored the pain and put on a clean shirt and uniform before hiding the bloodied clothes. Just on time, too: Quercus was lacing his cloak back on when he looked up at the clock to see that the twenty minutes were almost up. He looked out of the window and, sure enough, there she was – standing right at the window of the secretariat office in the Babahlese embassy.

Quercus nodded at her and went to fetch the crossbow and wire. He and Coachen had switched statues so many times that what came next took little time: tie the wire to the bolts sustaining the passionflowers at the window, place the bolt in the crossbow, aim, shoot; step aside the window, receive the wire once more, secure the statue to it; tie the wire in a loop, attach it to the ceiling fan, ease the statue out of the window, give a signal to the other side while simultaneously starting the fans. And, like every other time, the two statues moved from one window to the other.

In not even a minute they had switched places, and Quercus now held the replica with the plate for counterfeiting bills in it. He smiled down at it, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Everything had gone exactly as planned: all that was left for Chrysalis to do was starting another fire in the secretariat's office in another fifteen minutes, while he was giving the speech in the Rose Garden – a fire the Yatagarasu would be blamed for, along with Manny Coachen's murder. Yes, it was perfect, truly perfect. It was almost over, Quercus thought as he stepped towards the support where the statue was meant to be placed.

But of course, something unexpected just _had_ to happen.

"S-stay where you are! Put the statue down!"

Quercus stilled, and for a moment he thought that the Interpol had somehow got wind of his plan, that they had known who the ringleader was all along and were now trying to catch him red-handed... until he turned, that was it. The man standing before him wore a mask and a ridiculously flamboyant costume, and was _definitely_ not one of the Interpol's agents. Which only left an option, really – that had to be the thief Coachen had hired. But wasn't he supposed to show up later? Quercus was rather sure he had been instructed to act during his speech in the Rose Garden. Perhaps it had been the fire, he reasoned: seeing the fire, the thief had grown nervous and had decided to act before he should.

A grave mistake, Quercus thought grimly: now that he had seen him walking without need for a cane and lifting the statue without much trouble, he couldn't be allowed to live.

"I told you to put the statue down!" the man ordered again, taking a step closer. It was meant to be an order, but his voice shook so much it was easy to see he was far more nervous than Quercus himself. Good Lord, Quercus thought, where had Coachen even found such an amateur? "Don't make me resort to violence!"

Quercus sighed. "Why, I wouldn't want that either. Violence is such a dreadful thing," he said before looking at the wall behind the man and called out loudly. "Arrest this man!"

"What?" the thief blurted out, caught entirely by surprise, and instinctively turned to look behind him. Yet another grave mistake – his _last_ grave mistake. Before he man was even done turning Quercus brought the statue up, and then brought it down – hard – on the man's unprotected head.

The cracking noise that followed was rather satisfying to hear. He smiled coldly as the men fell on his back on the floor and blood began pooling around his head. He didn't bother to even check: he knew the man had to be dead, and if not he would be soon. All that he needed to concern himself with now was fabricating some evidence that would put the blame on someone else... and allow him to plead self-defense should it not work.

Quercus put the statue back in place before taking a look around, and he smirked once more when his gaze fell on the fake sword that foolish young man in the Steel Samurai costume had left in his office. Perhaps it wouldn't be enough to convict him, Quercus thought as he smeared it with blood – it was a fake weapon, after all – but if anything it would cause some confusion to whoever would investigate the murder.

Then his gaze fell on his bonsai trimming shears, and he knew he had all that he needed to claim the man had wounded him first should it ever come to that. A wound, a blade... all that was left to do was putting some of his own blood on the shears, and he just happened to still have some bloodied clothes at hand. How ironic, he thought as he went to smear blood on the shears, that the wound Coachen had given him would grant him the perfect defense for another murder.

It was so ironic that he couldn't help but laugh, the pain from his wound forgotten.

* * *

><p>"The Yatagarasu!"<p>

"It's the Yatagarasu!"

"Run! Run!"

In the midst of the panic that ensued at the appearance of the 'Yatagarasu' at the very beginning of his speech, Quercus had a hard time keeping himself from laughing again. He looked upwards, pretending to be looking for the infamous Yatagarasu like everyone else, but in truth it was something else he was looking for – the orange glow from the other side of the wall telling him that the fire in Coachen's office had been started.

And so that was it, he thought – the beginning of then end. Coachen's body would soon be found, and there would be no turning back then; he would be believed to be the ringleader, and the ring itself would soon vanish without anyone's guidance. Oh, some people may try to gain control, but Quercus highly doubted they could hold it all together on their own... especially with the Interpol after them. It truly was over; the smuggling operations that Vulneraria had started hell knew how many years before, the same operations he and Queen Luzula and High General Durandii had kept up, the worldwide ring he had turned it into in those years of golden exile – all of it would be no more.

And yet Quercus couldn't find it in himself to regret his choice. The ring was something he had invested many resources and energies into, something he had sacrificed _lives_ for, and yet he could give up on it so much more easily than when he had to give up on his position in the army. Giving up on the army had meant giving up on all he had been for most of his life – a _soldier_. Giving up on the smuggling ring meant letting go of a mere game he had used to amuse himself, to put all the power he had gained through his life to at least some use so that his work until then wouldn't feel entirely pointless. It meant letting go of a feeble façade he only now realized he had come to hate more than anything else, leaving it behind like a snake shedding old, tight skin.

From that night on, he thought as he kept looking at glow of fire, that mask would no longer be needed; one last night, one last role to act, and then he would discard it to never wear it again. By dawn he could be himself again; the thought felt so refreshing he had to keep himself from smiling.

He still didn't know that he would throw away his mask earlier than he had thought, long before dawn. Still, when the moment came he didn't truly mind: when that annoyingly persistent prosecutor managed to prove his presence in the car that had brought Manny Coachen to kill Cece Yew it felt almost refreshing throwing away the mask he had come to hate and finally standing up straight to face his opponents. It felt _good_, as though he was marching into battle one more time, the law and its limits his new battlefield.

But that one battle – his very last battle – was one he was destined to lose.


	35. The Curtain Falls

_A/N: so, this last chapter... isn't actually going to be the last chapter. It was supposed to be, but it simply turned out too long and I had to cut it in two. This is the bulk of it; the second part, a relatively short epilogue, will be posted next week. Sorry about that, I didn't expect the chapter to get THAT long._

* * *

><p>After his arrest Alba hadn't thought, even for a moment, than he could avoid capital punishment.<p>

He would be convicted, of that he had been certain: those prosecutors had iron-clad proof against him when it came to Coachen's murder, and he no longer could plead self-defense for the murder of Ka-Shi-Nou. With his diplomatic immunity removed there was no layer of defense left to protect him.

In another situation, at another time, he may have thought he could simply receive a prison sentence – but not _then_, not with Zheng Fa demanding for him to pay for the damage to its economy and not with Cohdopia having just then been reunited. Cohdopia was still weakened, still struggling to regain balance – and thus was in dire need of a fresh start with the countries that surrounded it... especially the ones the smuggling ring had damaged. And for that fresh start to be possible, the ringleader was to be prosecuted at the fullest extent of the law – American and Cohdopian both.

All of that Alba had known from the start, well before Prince Delphinium came to speak to him in prison and explained the situation in a way that was almost apologetic.

"I won't pretend I understand what you did, or why you even decided to do a such thing. Neither I or my sister approve, obviously enough," the prince said. "Still, we both have a debt to you – and not only as royals. We would have never been born without your; we would have died as children without you; there would have been nothing left of the royal family without you. If we had any choice on the matter, if Cohdopia could afford a diplomatic incident _now_, you wouldn't be facing death. It pains both of us that it has to be this way," he added, and the regret in his voice sounded absolutely genuine.

For a moment – just for a moment – Alba felt anger at him and his sister for letting him die like that, anger at them for revoking his ambassadorship in the first place when he most needed it and the protection it granted him. For a moment he wanted to scream at him that he and his sister together didn't make half the ruler Queen Luzula had been, that she wouldn't have given up so easily – but in the end he did none of it, because he knew it wouldn't be truthful. Had Queen Luzula been in their place, she would have done exactly the same: she would have sacrificed him for the country's sake. She wouldn't have wanted to do it, he was certain; she would have hated doing so, it would have pained her... but she still would have done it. Because she was a Queen, and Cohdopia had to come before everything and everyone else. Because it was her duty. Because compared to the country's greater good, he was expendable.

The thought made him smile bitterly. Expendable. After so many years fighting so he wouldn't be, he still was nothing but a chess piece himself – no longer the player. Perhaps he had never truly been.

"I understand," was all he told Prince Delphinium in the end. Oh, he could tell him more – he could tell him of his mother's involvement with the beginnings of the smuggling ring, something no one else but himself knew of – but he decided not to. He wouldn't have dragged Queen Luzula's name in the mud when she was alive; he wouldn't do it now that she was dead.

In the end, he only asked for one thing: to be granted death by firing squad. "I've been a soldier for all of my life. I wish to die as one," he said, and his request was immediately granted. There would be no hanging for him, no rope, no undignified swinging: only gunpowder, the impact of hot lead on human flesh, and then nothingness. That was the all that remained of the power and influence he once had, Alba thought bitterly – that, and the fact he was allowed to keep his uniform and medals rather than having to wear a prison suit.

Prince Delphinium stared at him for a few moments before leaving, the question – _why have you done all of this?_ – plain on his face, but did not ask. As he watched him leave, Alba was almost amused by the thought that no one had asked that – not there, not in Cohdopia.

But back in the States, during his first trial, someone had asked right before the sentence was passed.

"Why? Why did you do all of this?" Kay Faraday had asked, looking straight at him from the prosecutor bench where she stood with Miles Edgeworth. "You had my father killed for that ring. I want to at least know why. Why even start it? Weren't you powerful enough as it was? _Why_?"

Her question had caused Alba to recoil and look up for the first time since the beginning of the trial: for the whole time he had barely even listened to anything, already knowing how that charade was going to end. He had looked back at the girl, who had held his gaze – and, much to his own surprise, he had chuckled. "Do you truly wish to know? Do you think it would help? Knowing why my family was taken from me gave me no closure. It wouldn't be different for you. What _did_ give me closure was killing the man who took them away. Would you want to try that, child? Kill me and see if it helps?"

His words had caused the girl to pale, but she hadn't turned her gaze away. "I'm not like you. I'm not going to kill anyone," she had snapped.

"No? Aren't you here to see me sentenced to die?"

"She's here to see justice done for her father's murder. Justice is no petty revenge," Miles Edgeworth had spoken up, his voice even colder than usual, his jaw clenched a little tighter – but Alba had no time nor interest to wonder about the sudden change.

"And yet you let the actual murderer slip our of your grasp," he had said, the remark causing both the prosecutor and the girl to stiffen. There had been a noise akin to a growl somewhere behind him – Agent Lang, he had assumed – and the cracking of a whip against the floor. None of it was surprising: the fact Chrysalis had escaped prison before the trial could even take place was bound to burn. They had underestimated her, and now she had disappeared; she was good at doing that. The Interpol could keep looking for her until the end of time: she could be as a ghost if so she wished, and Alba was certain they would never find her.

"This doesn't change the fact you ordered Faraday's death," Edgeworth had finally said stiffly. "More to the point, Alba, did we just hear you confess to _yet_ another murder?"

A few murmurs had swept across the courtroom, and Alba had felt everyone's eyes bearing on him. It didn't matter, he had told himself: with two charges for murder and death penalty a certainty, why should he hold back from talking of a decades old murder?

"Mr. Alba, is that... are you truly confessing to another murder?" the judge had asked, clearly bewildered.

Alba had turned to look back at Kay Faraday. She was pale, but once again held his gaze. "I killed more people than you can imagine. War is nothing but mass murder, as you should know. But yes, I did kill another man in a way that fits your limited definition of murder. I killed a High General of Cohdopia once, many years ago. Anthyllis Vuleraria, his name was. He was the man who started the smuggling ring. I simply took it over after his death. He took everything from me – my house, my home town, my family. I took his life, and the ring," he had said calmly.

It had taken the judge several moments and quite a few hits of his gavel to being the court back to order after that, but Alba had barely even noticed: the only person whose presence he was now able to acknowledge was Kay Faraday's. "The whole thing was a game to me. Something to keep myself occupied with. There is no more to it than this," he had said. "It may not be a pleasant truth, but it is the truth. All I can add to it is that it was not me to start it; I only seized it, and expanded it. After killing its creator, as I said."

She had stayed silent for a moment before speaking again. "You said he took your family. Do you mean-"

"He had them killed. Not just them; hundreds of people died that day. But only four of them mattered."

"But... why?"

And Alba had told her. Looking back he had no real reason to, but then again why shouldn't he? No harm could come to him from it, not anymore; so let everyone know why a whole town had been erased from existence more than fifty years before. He had told a silent court everything about Operation Casus Belli, of how he lost everything because of it. About the smoking ruins left of his town, of his house. About his mother's severed arm. About Laurie's faceless corpse. About how the remains of his his father and older sister had been small enough to fit into a shoebox. He had told them of how he found out many years later who had ordered the attack and why, how he had killed him. He had told them everything, or almost, for he had chosen to leave both Queen Luzula and High General Durandii out of his tale, to tell nobody of the role they had had.

He had said how he had kept the ring up as a possible weapon to use for Cohdopia someday, and then how he had eventually come to use it to amuse himself once he was sent to the States as the Cohdopian ambassador. And, when he had finished talking and had fallen silent, no one had spoken for almost a whole minute. Edgeworth and von Karma had stared at him in silence, clearly at a loss for words; Lang had stared as well, but let no expression show on his face. Kay Faraday had covered her mouth with her hand as he spoke, and had only lowered it once he stopped talking – still, she had said nothing.

In the end it had been Alba to speak once more, his voice weaker, and tired.

"I believe that is all. Since Vulneraria's murder took place in Cohdopia, I don't think there's any point in pursuing the matter further here. Prosecutor von Karma may do that during my Cohdopian trial if so she wishes, I suppose, but this court has nothing to do with any of it. I am tired, and I wish to rest. Do pass the sentence and be done with it," Alba had said, looking up at a stunned judge and causing him to recoil. It had been with a somewhat shaky voice that the man had declared him guilty of all charges.

His Cohdopian trial was held mere days afterward, and it was just as quick; Prosecutor von Karma was no less determined than Edgeworth to get a guilty verdict, and with Agent Lang to testify it hadn't taken much for her to obtain it. Still, she had not prosecuted him for Vulneraria's murder; he supposed she had seen no point in it, for he was bound to be found guilty of murder even as things were.

And then, after the trial, there was nothing left for him to do but wait.

Even with the chaos that the country's reunification caused – reuniting a country, he knew, was just as complicated as splitting it – several people had tried to visit him in prison. Most of were important figures in the country, apparently, but Alba knew almost none of them – a reminder of how many years he had been away from Cohdopia as it underwent the greatest changes it ever went through – and had refused to meet anyone. Prince Delphinium ways the only visitor he had accepted to see, fully knowing he could only be there to bid farewell on behalf of his sister as well; not a surprise, since the queen couldn't just go and visit him without causing less than pleasant diplomatic reactions by the countries his smuggling activities had damaged.

But now he had left as well and, his execution scheduled for the next day, Alba was yet again alone in his cell – with his memories, and his flowers. He had been given a cell where enough sunlight could make it in, just enough for his flowers not to whiter and die. Of course not all his plants could be brought there, so he had to choose; in the end he had asked for his passionflowers to be brought there – the same kind of flower he had seen on his first battlefield, amidst his comrades' bodies and blood.

He could recall how seeing that flower clinging to life among the devastation that surrounded it had helped him survive as well, so he supposed it was just fitting having those flowers with him on his final days. Much like that time he could only stay where he was and stare at the flowers, waiting for death to come.

Only that, this time, there would be no avoiding it.

Alba sat on his cot with a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping, and shut his eyes. He felt tired, so dreadfully tired: an old finished man who felt all the weight of his years and could only wait for his life to end. He had cheated death so many times in his life he had almost forgotten that he, too, would someday die. He had faced death more times than he could count, and yet now he was more aware than ever of his own mortality. It was wracking his nerves: having to wait for the day of his sentence, watching minutes and hours and days fly by, was very different from risking his life in some war operation where death could claim him any instant– and so much more difficult to bear.

His time in that world was measured in hours; minutes were running like sand through his fingers and, for the first time since when he could remember, he was _scared_.

He wasn't ready to die. He wasn't ready. He didn't _want_ to. And yet all he could do was pray that the firing squad wouldn't botch his execution, that they would aim right and that it would be quick.

_Please, let it be quick_.

"Alba."

Alba opened his eyes to see a guard standing before his cell. He straightened himself, more out of habit than because he truly cared whether or not they would see how tired he was. "What is it?"

"You have a visitor."

With a slight snort, Alba turned away. "Unless it's Queen Wilkiea, you can tell them I don't feel like seeing anyone. If it's the priest who tried to talk me into a confession – what in the world he thinks I may have left to _confess_ is a mystery to me – you can kindly tell him to go to hell."

"It's neither. It's-"

"Then tell them to go away. I want to be left alone."

The man sighed. "I told her you'd say so. She asked me to give you this."

Alba turned with an annoyed scowl which immediately vanished when he saw what the guard was holding out – a golden medal.

A golden metal he had never forgotten about.

"Who gave you this?" Alba demanded to know, immediately standing and walking up to the bars. He reached out to take the medal and brushed his thumb on the surface, his heart speeding up

"An old woman who showed up just now. She asked to speak with you. She says her name is-"

"Bring me to her," Alba cut him off, clenching his fist around the medal. The guard seemed somewhat baffled by the sudden change of attitude, but he said nothing about it and simply reached for the keys.

"Protocol requires me to handcuff you before taking you out of the cell. We didn't it that when His Highness Prince Delphinium came to see you, though. Nor you gave us a reason to. If you don't, then I won't do it this time either," he added. It was a breach of the rules, but Alba wasn't too surprised: there were several people among the guards who still respected the man he had been.

Alba nodded, a part of him grateful of the fact he wouldn't have to bid her his farewell with his wrists chained. "I'll give you no reason to. Just bring me to the visitor's room."

The visitor's room was a large, well-lit room with a table in the middle. There was no glass between the prisoner and the visitor, and a guard would stand near the door – far enough to allow some privacy, close enough to act should the situation get out of hand.

Issoria was already there, sitting on her wheelchair on the other side of the table. Alba had not seen her since the civil war, and if she had looked old back then now – in her mid-eighties – she looked ancient. But her eyes were still the same, and looked at him with the usual warmth.

"Issoria," Alba heard himself calling out as he sat in front of her, his voice somewhat raspy. In the weeks that had passed since his conviction he had never even thought of her, had never even tried to contact her, and yet there she was. For a moment he was almost ashamed of himself – how could he just _forget_ about her? Or perhaps he had _chosen_ to forget, so that she wouldn't have to see him so defeated; he couldn't tell. But she was there, so none of it really mattered. "It's been... some time."

She gave a small smile. "I used to think that the passing years were kinder to you than they were to me, but that seems to have changed. You truly are an old man now. But then again, you were always older than your years," she said somewhat sadly. Her voice had stayed the same, too. "I feared this would happen from the day I knew what you fought for, old man. Tell me, was it ever enough?"

Alba shook his head. "You know better than I do that nothing was ever enough. You were right on that. You were right on... on many things. I should have quit all of this when I could. I should have stayed in the village when I had a chance."

"It wouldn't have made you happy, old man. Nothing could have."

A sigh. "No, it wouldn't have. I know. It wouldn't have been enough – but I wouldn't be on death row now. Still, I'm... glad to see you."

Her hand, old and calloused and spotted with age, reached across the table to cover his. "I'm glad to see you as well, though I wish it was in different circumstances."

Alba's hand held hers back. Her skin was warm, so much warmer than his; he hadn't realized until that moment just how cold he felt. "Have you come to bid your farewell?"

"What else? Saying goodbye was the least I could do. One can't simply let old friends leave without a goodbye," she said softly, then her smile dimmed. "I also wanted to ask you if you're sorry, but I won't. I can tell you're not, or at the very most you're simply sorry for yourself. I want to believe you never had to lie to me, and I wouldn't want you to start now."

Alba swallowed and shook his head. "I didn't. I truly didn't. I never lied to you. Not to you. Not ever," he said, and God, wasn't that ridiculous – with all the crimes he had committed, with all he was accused of, that was the only thing he desperately wanted her to believe.

Issoria's gaze hadn't hardened at all as she spoke, yet it still grew somewhat softer. "I see. I'm glad to know that."

He drew in a shaky breath and held her hand a little tighter. "How... how are they? Daphne had the medal. I assumed she gave it back," he added. For a moment the memory of the day he had given that medal to a little child with a thing for shiny things made it back in his mind, and something in his chest ached. Had she wanted to be rid of it now that she knew what he had done, exactly what kind of man he was?

"Yes, I asked for her to give me the medal so that I could return it to you. She's doing fine, old man. She is not here, but I must admit I told her it would be best for me to see you alone. I thought you wouldn't want her to see like this. Was I wrong on that?"

"No," Alba admitted. "No, you were not. I wouldn't have wanted her to see me now. Even seeing Prince Delphinium was difficult. I would have refused to see anyone else but you," he added, and gave a small, bitter chuckle. "You have already seen me at my worst, after all."

Issoria have his hand another gentle squeeze. "If it's worth anything to you, she would have come hadn't I told her otherwise."

There was a moment of silence before Alba could make himself speak again. "It's worth something, yes. So... she's doing fine."

"Yes. She's likely to become the head physician of her department within the year, or so her husband told me. Daphne isn't one to count her chickens before they hatched, so she'll probably only tell me when and if things go as planned."

"I see. So she plays her cards close to her chest," Alba said with a small, somewhat bitter smile. That was exactly what he had done for most of his life, and what he had _not_ done back in the Embassy. He had assumed his power and prestige would shield him from anything, and hadn't cared whether or not his opponents knew of his guilt. It had been a grave mistake, perhaps the worst he had ever made – and his last one. "And... and her son?" he asked.

Her face opened in a soft smile. "Quercus is doing wonderfully. He's growing bigger and stronger each day. He talks all the time, though he had a bit of a lisp. And he's smart. Have I told you he can already write?" she added.

Alba shook his head. "No, but you're telling me now."

"He likes drawing, too. He's good at it, for a child. Most of the things he draws or writes about don't exist, but I suppose it's to be expected. He has a vivid imagination. Some say he'll grow out of it, but I don't think so. And I'm glad: I think his imagination is the gift life gave him. That child was born to be happy – you can see that when you speak to him. It's like a glow," she said fondly, then reached with her other hand to brush some hair away from Alba's forehead. "He has your eyes, and yet they look so different," she added, and this time her voice was tinged with sadness.

Alba found himself chuckling, turning his gaze away from her. "I suppose I ought to be relieved to know it. I did hope for him to have a very different life from my own," he said, but he couldn't bring himself to be quite as certain of the boy's happiness as she was. Laureola had been happy as well, healthy and loving and _loved_, and yet that happiness had been cut short and nothing of her had remained but an empty, faceless shell that by now must have turned to dust.

And once he was gone, no one would be left to even remember her. No one would be left to remember _them_. And what would become of him? He had not once even thought of the possibility of life after death, but when you're about to die it's hard not to. If so, would he see them again? Would they even want to see _him_?

The memory of Laurie's furious expression and screams in the last dream – the last _nightmare_ – he had of her the night he had killed Vulneraria came back to his mind for the first time in years, chilling him to the bone.

_"LIAR! You're not my brother! You're not! Where is he? What have you done to him? WHERE IS HE?"_

_"I hate you! I HATE YOU! Give me back my brother! Stop holding him back! Let him go!"_

"_Give him back! GIVE HIM BACK!"_

Alba lowered his head, a noise that sounded frighteningly close to a dry sob leaving him. He felt, faintly, Issoria lacing their fingers together.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice reaching him as though from very afar. He opened his mouth to reply, not quite knowing what he could even say, but he was cut off by a knocking noise on the iron door.

"Five minutes left," the guard's voice came from outside, causing his heart to miss a beat. His grip on Issoria's hand tightened for a moment, his breath hitching before he could take complete control again.

Her own hand tightened its grip on his, and when she spoke her voice was low and soft. "It's almost time."

Something ached in his chest and a lump in his throat kept him from speaking, but that was for the best: the words a part of him desperately wanted to utter – _stay, I'm scared, stay with me_ – were best left unspoken. He made an effort to swallow and chuckle, but the sound that left him didn't sound like a chuckle at all. "Sometimes I wondered if the world would feel different with you gone. Perhaps I should be relieved I'll never know, after all. Perhaps it's for the best. I've had enough losses as it is."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Gaze still fixed on their hands – it was easier than making himself look at her face, so much easier – he slowly nodded. "There is... there is something. It's about the medal you brought."

"What about it?"

Alba's other hand reached to take the medal from his pocket and put it on the table. "It's the first medal I ever gained. I accepted it, and the promotion that came with it, in exchange of my silence on how the whole unit was lied to and sent to die. Not that I was explicitly told to keep quiet, but... I could tell that was the reason I was given this. They told me I should carry it with pride, that it was for my fallen comrades as well – such pretty words to cover an ugly truth. A truth I had seen. I could have refused the medal, I could have tried to speak up even if it got me killed, but I didn't. I accepted the medal and said nothing. I said _nothing_." He paused and finally made an effort to lift his head and look at her in the eyes. She looked saddened, pity plain as day on her face – but then again, she was the only person in the world whose pity he could accept.

"Before my first battle I was so certain that joining the army would allow me to avenge my family. I thought I could make a difference. I was wrong – that battle showed me that I was a nobody, like all the other soldiers who had died around me. And when I woke up in the hospital, I was determined to never again be expendable. To never again be a nobody. For a long time I thought the boy I had been had died with my family, but I was wrong. He died the day I accepted this," he added, pushing the medal closer to her, "the boy died, and the man who was born from that was not someone my family would have recognized, or approved of. All for nothing, because in the end – right now – I still am expendable enough to be put to death for a greater good."

For a few moments Issoria said and did nothing, then she began stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. Alba looked back down at it, a lump forming yet again in his throat, and waited for her to finally speak.

"What is it you want me to do?"

Alba had to swallow once more before he trusted himself so speak. "My old hometown was never rebuilt, but neither the ruins were ever removed, as far as I know. It should still show on old maps. Dianthus, it was called. Near the northern border with Borginia. My house was at the far end of the town, in front of an oak tree. The ruins should still be there. It was the only oak in the area, so it should be easy to spot. I was supposed to build a tree house on it, you see. The best Cohdopia ever saw. But I never did. I came back too late," he added, his voice distant to his own ears. "But you already know about that."

"Yes. I do."

"I want... I'd like you got get this medal there. Send someone, or... I don't know. But I'd like to have this medal buried there, beneath the tree. It marks the moment the person my family knew died. I have no place there, not anymore, but this... this should be there. I think it should be. Can you... do that?"

Her thumb stopped stroking the back of his hand for a moment, then resumed. It felt more reassuring than Alba could possibly put into words.

"Yes," she said softly, taking the medal in her free hand. "Of course I can. I'll ask Daphne to do it. I'm certain she'll have no problem doing that."

Alba closed his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

She put the medal away and reached to take hold his hand with her other one as well, and was about to say something when the door opened. Alba looked up to see a guard standing stiffly in the door frame.

"Time is up," he said, his voice quiet.

Alba opened his mouth to protest, but words died in his throat. It dawned on him once more that whatever he said or did now had no relevance, that he was a death row prisoner not too much unlike any other. The irony of it almost made him laugh bitterly: he had had the power to obtain so much for so long, and now he knew he couldn't even order a lowly guard into letting her stay a few more minutes.

Issoria, on the other hand, simply turned to the guard on the door. "A few more minutes," she said quietly.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. The rules..."

"This is the last time we meet. Please."

Her words caused the man to fall silent. His gaze moved from her to Alba, then back to her. "Only a few minutes," he finally said, and left without saying another word, closing the door quietly behind himself.

Alba looked at Issoria to see that she was staring back at him sadly. "It's almost time."

"Don't go."

The plea left him before he could stop himself, and he had barely uttered it before regretting it. He sighed and looked away, then felt Issoria holding his hand a little tighter.

"You know I would stay if I could."

"Yes. I do."

"Is there anything else you wish to ask of me? Anything I can do?"

Once again, Alba had to swallow before he could speak. "I can't recall you ever using my name. Not for me," he finally said. "And yet you once said it fit me."

She smiled wistfully. "Do you want me to use it now, old man?"

"Please."

But she didn't use it, not right away: for a few moments she said nothing at all. When she spoke again she sounded thoughtful more than saddened. "I had never thought I would see you so defeated someday."

Alba gave a bitter laugh. "Me neither, but that's what I am – defeated. A whole life spent fighting so I would no longer be expendable and look where I am now – in death row for the greater good of the country I served most of my life. It was useless, all of it. No war I won, no wound I endured, no life I took, no amount of power I held meant anything in the end. I'm as expendable now as I was the day I first joined the army," he said bitterly.

"You're wrong."

There was something in her voice that wasn't there before, a kind of sternness that caused Alba to blink and look back at her. "What-" he began, only to fall silent when she silences him with a wave of her hand. The other hand, however, kept holding his.

"We don't have much time, so now I want you to keep quiet and listen to me. If you truly think it was all for nothing, then you're even more self-absorbed and blind than I thought. You have been this country's war hero for years. You still are. So many people are against your execution, old man. Whatever your crimes were against whatever country, many people here simply do not care – and that's because you did more for _this_ country than any other man ever did. Perhaps it was all for yourself, but it doesn't change the fact Cohdopia would be so much different hadn't it been for you... and not for the best, most likely. You won wars. You saved lives. You saved _Daphne's_ life, and that of her child. There is a little boy who would have probably never been born without your intervention – he doesn't bear your name for no reason. Have you forgotten all of it?"

For a few moments Alba could only stare at him, barely comprehending. When it finally dawned on him that she was right, he was almost stunned by the fact he hadn't thought about it at all. All he had focused on was _his_ rise, _his_ power, _his_ downfall, the fact _he_ was about to die; not for a moment he had paused to consider the effect his actions had had on so many people, for so many years. He had never truly cared, truth to be told, but now that the end was nearing it was at least something he could cling to, something that proved that not all of it had been useless. He may have fallen, he may have to die, he may have failed in his struggle to never be expendable – but he wasn't going to pass on without leaving a mark in that wretched world... and not only for the worst.

It wasn't much, but it still helped. It was better than thinking all he had done in his life had amounted to nothing.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Issoria's voice reached him as though from miles away.

Slowly, Alba nodded. "Yes," he said softly, thinking back of every war he had won, of when he had ended a civil war before it could even start, when he had saved Queen Luzula from the assassin, when he had saved her children from Incuritis, when he had saved the child he had come to call Chrysalis from certain death, when he had helped Daphne out of her arrest and made sure nothing happened to her or the child she carried, when he had kept the royal family of Cohdopia – Luzula's legacy – from being destroyed by the second civil war. Even if that same country he had served needed him to die now so it could have a fresh start, he had made a _difference_ in life – and there was nothing that could change that. "Yes, I understand," he heard himself saying, and finally looked back up at her. She was wearing that soft smile he knew was reserved to her family only... and to him. It felt good seeing it again; it felt like balm to wounds. "Thank you."

He had barely spoken those words when the door opened once again, and the same guard stood in the doorway. "Time is up," he said. "I'm afraid you have to go."

Issoria nodded at him. "I was just about to," she said before turning to Alba once more. "I will have the medal brought where you asked; I owe you at least that much. I may be the only one left to remember the young old man I once met, but I certainly won't be the only one to remember General Alba. I doubt what you did for this country will be easily forgotten, no matter what your motives were. You did make the right decisions more than once – not only for yourself, but for all Cohdopia and for its people. As for me, I'll always remember what you did for Daphne and me," she held his hand tight for a few moments before retreating hers, which easily slipped out of Alba's slackened grip. "Goodbye, Quercus."

Hearing his name – his _given_ name – coming from her for the first and last time felt both alien and oddly soothing. He was still defeated, he was still facing death, but he was no longer afraid. The ache in his chest was back, as was the lump in his throat, but this time it wasn't all bitterness. There was something more now – the knowledge he had done something worthwhile no matter what his end would be, the memories, the smell of freshly baked bread and soap and clean sheets in the sun.

_Home_.

Somehow, Alba found it in himself to smile back. "Farewell, Issoria."

_Thank you_.

* * *

><p>"It's time to go, Alba."<p>

Alba's hand stopped in mid-air, his fingers still touching the petals of the passionflowers he had been tending to. His heart leaped in his throat, but together with that came a sudden, unexpected sense of relief. It was almost over, the nerve-wrecking wait to its end. He would only have to be strong one more time, walk out of there and face the fire squad; then it would be over before it began.

It couldn't be too hard. He could do it.

Quercus nodded, a small smile curling his lips as he thought back once again of his first brush with death, so many years ago, on a bloodied battlefield where the only living things were himself and a flower. He had cheated death so many times since that day... but this time he could not avoid it.

_Time to go._

"Yes, it is. After all this time, it is," Alba heard himself murmuring, his voice almost lost in the sound of his cell door opening. He took one of the passionflowers from the vase, held it in his fist like he had done so many years before on that accursed battlefield, and stood. He turned to the guards, and let his gaze fall on the handcuffs one of them held. "Are you going to use those?" he asked. His hands were supposed to be cuffed behind his back while he faced the firing squad, but until then they had not handcuffed him even when they were supposed to; perhaps they wouldn't this time, either. It wasn't like he could try to escape either way.

The reply was the one he had expected. "Not if you don't give us any reason to."

That almost made Alba snort. Who did they take him for? Did they think he would try to fight them off, try to delay the unavoidable? Did they think he'd be reduced to beg for mercy? Did they think he'd have them drag him to the yard and shoot him while he cowered like a dog? He was a soldier, damn them, had and he was going to die as one.

In the end, though, Alba let none of those thoughts show. They'd see by themselves what he was made of when he'd face the firing squad with his head held high. "Very well. I will not," Alba finally said. "I'm ready."

_I'm not, _a part of his mind whispered, and he knew it was right – no one was ever truly ready to die. But he was not scared, not anymore, and he supposed that was the closest he could get to being ready. Alba tightened his grip on the flower, drew in a deep breath and followed the guards out of his cell and to the yard where his execution would take place.

The air outside was warm and still, already smelling of rain. The yard was a rather large one, surrounded by gray walls with no windows. It was empty aside from himself, the two guards, the firing squad and a men Alba supposed was the coroner. No one else was there to see, and it gave Alba at least some satisfaction: he could just imagine Lang trying with all his might to get a chance to see him die... and, normally, he his request would have been granted. But now – even _now_ – he was no normal man. He was no prisoner like anyone else.

The thought made him smirk even as he stood on his assigned spot, facing the firing squad, but the smirk died down almost right away as he looked at the guns. It was a cloudy day, but he could still see the cold metal glisten, the mouths of the rifles impossibly black. Heart hammering in his chest, Alba had to make an effort not to let anything show – but he managed, somehow. He stood stiffly, his fist clenching harder on the flower he held. He looked at each man in the firing squad in the eyes, but none of them could hold his gaze.

Somehow, that made him feel better.

_They still respect me. They still fear me. There is some power they couldn't strip me of._

Then one of the guards approached with a black cloth in his hands, and Alba's stomach clenched. He knew protocol required him to be blindfolded, but he didn't think he could stand it: staring death in the face was the last and only kind of control he had left on his own end, and he didn't want it to be taken from him. Not that, too.

"I won't need it," he said, his voice so firm it almost surprised him. He had spoken it like an order, and the man seemed to take it just as one. He didn't have listen to what Alba had said, for a prisoner had no right to refuse the blindfold – and yet he did, and put the blindfold away with no discussion. He probably wouldn't have done so for another prisoner, Alba thought with some measure of satisfaction and, yes, even amusement. He would have never thought he could feel amused by anything while standing before the fire squad, and yet he was. Facing death with no chance to escape it was a more interesting experience than he had thought.

Shame it could happen only once, he thought sarcastically.

"Do you have any last words?"

_Yes. No. I don't know. None you have any business listening. _

"None," Alba only said with a brief shake of his head. The hell with them and the hell with last words – he didn't need to utter any meaningless last word with no one who mattered to listen, nor he had any need to do so to be remembered. He would be remembered in any case. Issoria was right: he had left a mark in that country no one could forget for a long time.

_Thank you, General. For everything._

_Good night, my Queen._

"Ready!"

The shout rang clearly in the yard, causing Alba to draw in a sharp breath and dissolving the memory of Queen Luzula's last words to him – and his last words to her. He looked ahead to see the firing squad was getting ready to fire; his heart beat wildly somewhere in his throat, but he refused to let it show on his face. He stood still and straight, expression stony, chin held high.

He was not afraid. He would not be afraid.

"Aim!"

_Goodbye, Quercus. _

_Farewell, Issoria._

Alba's hand tightened even more on the flower he held, the flower he couldn't make himself let go of. He let out a trembling breath, his _last_ breath, and waited for yet one more, eternal moment.

"Fire!"

_Laurie-!_

The noise as the guns fired was deafening, as though coming from everywhere at once. There was no pain: only a stunning force hitting his chest and throwing him back. For only one instant he could see the sky, sunlight filling his eyes as the sun showed through the clouds for one brief moment. Then the sun went out, _everything_ did, and there was nothing but darkness left.

Quercus Alba fell on the ground like a tree struck by lighting and didn't move anymore.


	36. Quercus

_A/N: so, this is the end. It sure took a while to get here - exactly two years since when I started writing this. Had I known it would get so insanely long I probably wouldn't have even started. Good thing I didn't know, I guess, because this was so much fun to write.  
>Thanks to everyone who readreviewed/faved/bookmarked this. Special thanks to _Indochine_ for the amazingly thought-out reviews and the conversations and ideas that came out of them, and to _VampireNaomi_ for giving me the push I needed to work on this (and generally for listening to my ramblings)._

_Alright, that's about it. On to the epilogue, and thanks again._

* * *

><p><strong>Dianthus, Cohdopia, 2019<strong>

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"_No_."

"Are we-"

"_Quercus._"

The boy sighed somewhat dramatically, but he stopped asking. He was bored, yes, but his mom was using her Scary Voice and he _really_ didn't want to push her when she did. Oh no. He had ignored the warning once and it had been enough, thank you so very much. So in the end he just sat back and glanced out of the window as the car kept going. Not that there was much to see: there were hills on both sides, and since they were going up one right now he couldn't even see what lay ahead.

"I'm missing the new Steel Samurai episode," he whined. "Why couldn't I stay home alone? Just for once?"

His mother kept her eyes on the road. "Because you're _five_, that's why. Your father had work to do, your baby sitter is sick. Not my fault."

"I could have stayed with grandma! She makes the best pies and lets me watch TV all I want! She also got me a new set of crayons last month, and-" he trailed off when he realized that his mom's expression had darkened, her hands holding the steering wheel a little tighter. She was also pressing her lips together, which she only did when she was upset. Not the kind of upset when he didn't want to do his homework, either – the _serious_ kind of upset. "Mom?" he called out, his voice small. "Are you okay?"

She seemed to recoil and, while she didn't look away from the road, she gave a small smile. But it was forced, and it faded almost right away.

"I'm fine, yes. But your grandmother needs... some time to rest, that's all."

Quercus' eyes widened. "Why? Is she sick?" he asked, alarmed. There was another kid in his school who had stayed away from school for a few days because of his grandmother; he had left saying she was sick, and had come back saying she was 'gone'. He didn't know where to, and no one had really explained it very well to him, but Quercus knew it meant she was never ever coming back ever. He didn't want that to happen to _his_ grandma, too.

His mom, however, shook her head. "Not really, no. She just... lost a friend of hers."

"Lost?" Quercus repeated, his small face scrunching in confusion, and the word – lost – came out somewhat funny. His mom had told him that what he had was called a 'lisp' and that it would go away in time, but right now he didn't really care whether it was true or not. The notion of losing someone like a misplaced toy sounded really weird to him. "How do you _lose_ people?"

"In many ways," was the elusive answer. "The point here is, your grandmother had a very bad week. She needs to rest. I promise we'll visit her as soon as I can get another break from work."

Reassured by the fact his grandma wasn't going to be 'gone', Quercus crossed his arms. "You still didn't tell me how you _lose_ people!"

His mom chuckled, though it was a little forced. "Well, let me think... I could lose you by leaving you on the side of the road and driving off."

Quercus sniffed somewhat pretentiously. "You wouldn't do that."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

"Nope."

"And what makes you think so?"

"It's illegal!"

"How would you know?"

"Dad told me!"

"Drat. I should hope your father never told you anything about underage labor, or else there go my plans to make you clean up the house while I'm away."

Quercus couldn't say he really got the joke – what did 'underage labor' mean? – but he could tell his mom was trying to joke with him, even if she didn't really feel like it. Maybe she had _lost_ something too, he thought while he laughed a little along with her. Once the laugh died down there was silence for a few minutes. Not that it lasted too long, because Quercus didn't really like silence.

"Mom, where _are_ we going? And why?" he finally asked. He knew she had to do something, which was why she had taken a day off from work, but she wouldn't tell him what it was. But it had to be important, because she rarely took days off from work.

She hesitated before speaking. "Grandma asked for me to bring something back to a certain place," she finally said. "It will make her feel better, you know. You want her to feel better, right?"

"Sure!"

She smiled a little. "So do I. It won't take much, I promise. We're almost there."

"But where's _there_?"

"Unless we got hopelessly lost and thus are doomed to wander aimlessly until the end of time, it should be right past this hill," was the reply. And she was right: only a few minutes later the car reached the top of the hill, and what lay beyond took away Quercus' breath for a moment. It was like a ghost town, he thought, like the one in his favorite Steel Samurai episode. He could see the remains of torn down buildings and what was left of a main road, something that must have been a train station once with some remains of rails still scattered around. Whatever happened there had happened a long time ago, though, because plants and grass were growing everywhere. A small construction was entirely covered by leaves.

"Wow. This is so cool!" Quercus exclaimed, but his enthusiasm was cut short as soon as his mother turned to look at him. She had stopped the car on top of the hill, gazing down at the ghost town in silence, and now there was a sudden coldness in her gaze.

"No, it isn't. Something very bad happened here. People were hurt. People..." she paused and looked back at the ruins below them. "It isn't 'cool', Quercus. This was no game. It was war," she said. Now she was using her Serious Voice, and it meant she was _really_ serious.

That was enough to make any remaining excitement vanish. "Like the one that happened before I was born?" he asked, his voice small. His parents spoke very little of it, but their expressions any time it was mentioned told him clearly it hadn't been fun.

His mother sighed and nodded. "More or less like that, yes," she said, and started the engine again. "We have to cross the town, but we can't do it by car. The road is gone. We'll get down the hill and then go on foot," she added.

And that they did, though Quercus didn't really feel like getting out of the car when they had to. It didn't look so cool at all now that he had to walk through it: it was so still and silent, the only sound around them that of the wind through vegetation and torn down buildings, and the air felt so cold he shivered.

"Are there ghosts?" he asked, stepping closer to his mother... just in case.

That made her chuckle. It wasn't a really heartfelt one, but she did sound like she meant it at least a little bit. "Ghosts? Of course not. There is no such thing," she said, reaching down to ruffle his hair.

Quercus was somewhat reassured by that. His mother was a stern and sometimes somewhat chilly presence in his life, but she had never ever told him a lie even to reassure him, so he could believe that – if she said ghosts didn't exist, then they didn't. So he breathed a little more easily and followed his mother through the town, until they reached the other end of it and his mother paused to look around. "There," she finally murmured, and Quercus followed her gaze to see a huge oak standing a little distance ahead on their left, in front of what looked like a heap of rubble covered by grass and leaves.

Quercus tried to imagine a house standing there, but he couldn't really manage. "What is there?"

His mother sighed and reached for something in her purse. "I need to leave... something there. Something that belonged to a friend. Come," she said, walking through grass and to the oak. Quercus followed, trying to ignore how the sudden wind sounded like a moan and the air got even chillier. Wasn't his mom cold? Didn't she feel it at all?

"Who's that friend? Is he the one grandma lost?" he asked, more to hear the sound of her voice than for any other reason.

"Yes. Yes, it was him."

"But how did she _lose_ him? What happened? Where is he now?"

That made her pause for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was quieter. "It's... complicated. I'll tell you all about him someday, but not now. When you're older."

Quercus would have usually complained about that answer – he hated being told to wait until he was older – but that time he didn't really feel like arguing: he could tell talking about him made his mom feel... odd. She wasn't really sad-sad, not the kind of sad where you feeling like crying, but the kind of sad adults felt, when they didn't cry or complain but didn't talk much, either. So he just nodded, and followed her.

When they got closer to the oak, Quercus had to tilt back his head to see it all. He stared at it in wonder for a few moments, forgetting all about the cold and the wind and how spooky that place was. It was the biggest tree he had ever seen, and he had seen a _lot_ of trees. The trunk was massive and huge branches extended above them, covered in rustling leaves.

Upon a closer look it was clear it had been broken and partially burned at least once – he would have thought of lighting hadn't he just seen the state everything around them was into – but it was still majestic, standing taller than any other oak he had ever seen, leaves covering most of the damage.

His mother, who had been staring up at the oak just like him for a few moments, finally called out of him and startled him out of his wonder. "Quercus, go... just wait for me here. This will only take a minute," she said, pulling something out of her purse – it looked like a small pouch of black velvet with something inside, and then there was a tiny plastic shovel in a plastic bag – and stepping closer to the oak.

Quercus was a bit curious to ask what was inside the pouch, but he could tell it was something too personal for his mother to tell him about, so he just stayed silent and walked up to the ruins nearby as she began digging a small hole in the soil right beneath the tree. He squinted and tilted his head a bit, trying to guess the shape of whatever had once been there, or what was now left under thick vegetation. A small house, he decided – it couldn't have been too big. He wondered who had lived there once, and if they had escaped before the war could happen. What if they hadn't? What if-

A sudden movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn, thinking his mother was done and back for him – then he froze when he saw her still where he had last seen her, crouching right beneath the oak. But something had moved, he was sure of it!

Quercus blinked and glanced around, but he could see no one. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and not just because of the wind, but he forced himself to breathe and calm down. There was nothing there, he told himself, nothing and no one. No people had any business there, and ghosts didn't exist because... because his mom said so, that was why. He was only being a big baby. Maybe the wind had just carried away some leaves and that was the movement he had seen. Yes, that had to be it. That was the best explanation. It was _reasonable_. He had an active imagination, that was all. Everyone said that.

Finally reassured, Quercus turned to look back at the ruins. How big had the explosion been to destroy the house like that? Had it been an explosion? Or had it burned to the ground? Maybe the whole town had burned, every building with everything in it, and the people who lived there... the people who lived there...

Somewhere in the distance, a little girl giggled.

Quercus winced and turned around, his heart beating somewhere in his throat, and again he caught a movement in the corner of his eye – the briefest glimpse of a white dress. But when he turned to look to his right it was gone, and no one was there. He opened his mouth to cry out – who's there? –- but his voice died in his throat. He could only stand there for a few moments, green eyes wide and mouth dry, then he closed his mouth and swallowed.

"Mom?" he called out somewhat shakily, his voice swallowed by the wind. His mother was standing upright again, but she clearly hadn't heard anything, for she was not looking away from the spot where she had buried _something_. Quercus could see she had put a rock right over the freshly dug soil and he could tell that she wanted to have a moment on her own, but he was too scared to hold back from calling out again. "_Mom_!"

She turned to him with a confused frown, which turned to worry as soon as she lay her eyes on him. "What's wrong?" she asked, immediately walking up to him. She crouched in front of him and put her hand on his forehead. "You're pale. Are you cold? What is it?"

For a moment Quercus almost, _almost_ told her. But then he thought back of what he had told him about ghosts, how they didn't _exist_, and he paused. His mom wouldn't lie to him, he told himself, and his mom knew everything because... because she was his mom, and she was a grownup. She would know. So he wouldn't have seen a ghost, right? Right. He couldn't. It was just his 'active imagination' at work. And if he said he thought he had seen a ghost she would think that he thought she had lied, and he didn't want that. He didn't _think_ she had lied.

So in the end he settled for the excuse she had just offered him. "I'm cold," he finally said, his voice a bit shaky. "And... and my head spins a little, too. I want to go home."

He was barely done speaking when she let go of him, took off her coat and put it around him. It occurred to him she was going to feel cold like that, but before he could protest she was holding him in a tight embrace. And that was surprising, it really was, because his mother rarely hugged anyone, even him. One time, when he was very very little, Quercus had asked his grandmother why didn't his mom like him. Other kids would say that their moms were sweet and hugged them and covered them with kisses when they did something well, and read them stories and sang songs while tucking them in bed – but he couldn't recall his own mother doing anything of the sort. It was his dad who did all of that, except singing because he was really bad at it.

Grandma had laughed softly at his worries. "You're so wrong, little one. Daphne loves your more than you'll ever know. She simply doesn't show in a way you can understand yet. You will see when you're older."

That 'when you're older' thing had annoyed him, as always, but now – even if he was only a year older than then and thus probably not _older_ the way his grandma had meant – he thought he understood that a bit better.

His surprise at the sudden embrace had barely the time to sink in before she pulled back, ruffled his hair and stood. "Let's go home," she said, every bit like her usual self. "Do you want me to carry you?"

Quercus quickly shook his head. "No! I'm all grown up! I don't need to be carried. And I don't need the coat," he added, taking it off his shoulders and handing it back to her. "I'm not cold anymore. I don't want _you_ to get cold."

She blinked, then she gave him one of her rare wide smiles – those who felt even better than a prize after winning at something really really hard – and took back her coat. "Why, so chivalry is not dead yet. Color me surprised," she said before putting her coat back on and sobering up. "Let's get going. If you feel sick tell me, alright? And if you feel cold again just take the coat. A little wind won't kill me."

Quercus nodded and looked back at the oak, consciously avoiding to look at the ruins again. His gaze fell on the rock she had put there, over the spot where she had buried... something, whatever it was. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I got you worried."

She sighed. "Well, you're my son. I supposed getting me worried is your job," she said, then held out her hand for him to take. "Let's go."

He nodded and stepped forward, reaching out to grab her hand.

_What took you so long? You told me you'd be back soon! _

Quercus pulled back his hand and whirled around, but – again – he could see no one: only the oak, the ruins and the grass. But he had heard a voice he was sure; it was faint and distant, so very distant, but it was a voice. It was the voice of a little girl.

And then the wind picked up, and... was there another voice then? Quercus couldn't tell: one moment it sounded like a young man's voice, the next it was only rustling leaves. If it was a voice, if there really were words, he couldn't pick them up. Another gust of wind made him shiver, making the oak's leave rustle even more. Now it sounded different – it sounded like laughter.

Was there really someone laughing? Quercus strained his eyes, but he couldn't see anyone there. He was about to step closer – because he was not afraid, not anymore, if someone was there they were happy and laughing and this he had no reason to be afraid – when his mother called out for him.

"Quercus?"

He ignored her and strained his ears to listen. Was someone speaking now? There was something, some kind of distant murmur, but he couldn't tell the words apart. Was it one voice or more? Were they even words? Was it just the wind? He couldn't tell.

"Quercus, we have to go."

"Not now!" he protested, almost desperate to find out what was it he was hearing. Had he turned to look at his mother, he would have seen her tilting her head on one side in honest confusion.

"First you wanted to go home, and now you don't want to leave? What's gotten into you? Am I supposed to guess? Because-"

"Let me listen," he cut her off, but there was nothing to listen anymore now – only the wind, and the sound of rustling leaves. Quercus stared up at the oak, as though hoping to see something among those leaves, but he could see nothing... as he could see no one anywhere around him. There was no one there, no one but him and his mother.

"Listen to what?"

Quercus winced when his mother spoke again: she had stepped closer to him, coming to stand by his side, and he hadn't even realized it. He craned his neck to look up at her; she was staring down at him with a slight frown, clearly wondering what that was about. All of a sudden, Quercus felt rather stupid for even thinking he had heard voices in the wind. Didn't everyone always say he had an active imagination anyway? So that had been it – his imagination. Nothing more. There was no one there.

And his mom said ghosts didn't exist, so they didn't. It was simple as that.

"Nothing. I thought I heard something, but it was nothing," he finally said, and reached to take his mother's hand. "Let's go home. Please?"

She still seemed a little baffled, but didn't argue: she only gave one last, long look at the oak tree before finally nodding. "Yes. Let's go," was all she said, and they headed back the way they had come. Quercus walked close to her side, not turning back once.

"Mom?" he called out once they were finally in sight of their car, almost out of the ghost town.

"Yes?"

"Is grandma going to feel better now that you did what she asked?" he asked, looking up at her.

She smiled somewhat tiredly. "I'm sure she is, yes," she said. "How about we visit her again this weekend? I'm sure she could use some more company. That, and some help with her garden; I don't trust half the family as far as I can throw them when it comes to plants. We could work in it together for a bit. Would you like that?"

Quercus immediately lit up like a Christmas tree. He always liked it at grandma's house, where there was the garden and the old tree house to play and all the sweets he wanted, and he liked helping his mother with the plants. She was a lot less stern when they were there, and almost never used her Scary Voice. "Sure!"

Soon enough they were back in the car, his mother driving them away from there and Quercus sitting on the passenger seat, the seat belt buckled, his attention taken by something funny they were saying on the radio. He was young and easily distracted, his mind already miles away from what he had heard, or thought he had heard, in the shade of the old oak tree.

He was not there to listen when the wind picked up again; then maybe he would have thought again that the rustling leaves sounded like voices at first, then laughter. Maybe he would have thought he could hear two voices, growing fainter and more distant with each passing moment.

But he was not there, no one was, and no one heard.

Then the wind fell, and the leaves stopped rustling.


End file.
